I tried and failed to exercise yesterday.
I live in a large apartment building that offers among its amenities a workout facility. I’ve also discovered it offers gigantic cabinets loosely secured to a wall! Anyway, the way the building is set up, there is a track around the workout room. Yesterday, when I tried to access the room, it was locked. I, of course, took that as a sign from the Lord that I shouldn’t work out that day. I went back upstairs and instead started this blog.
Today it was locked again, but I was SMART today and brought down my building-issued ID card which buzzed me in. Logic is awesome.
I decided, as previously mentioned, to holla at the elliptical machine for my first venture. Several summers ago when, for the bajillionth time I tried to work out more, I used an elliptical machine and ended up not hating it. I imagined it sort of being like the Gazelle machine my parents used at the time, and it isn’t. The elliptical machine makes me hurt like crazy from my butt to my feet. I wish Tony Little were around to help me:
RESULTS! RESULTS! RESULTS! RESULTS!
Actually, I take that back. I couldn’t handle Tony Little in any capacity.
I wanted to work out for 30 total minutes today, and I accomplished that. I did 15 minutes first on the treadmill, 10 minutes on the elliptical, and 5 more minutes on the treadmill. I hope to change those proportions eventually. I felt pretty good about it ultimately, but near the end of my workout, three people joined me in the workout room.
Am I the only one who hates working out in front of people? Listen, I understand my body’s unique floppiness, but I feel like others are staring at my waistline. Watching the undulation of my skin. Trying to figure out if they played a pair of claves to the beat of my manboobs movement if it would make a hit song (answer: obviously yes).
The worst part was it was (what I assume at least) a young child and his parents. Children are always particularly fascinated by fat people and stare at me while I shop or eat at restaurants. It was a boy who was maybe around eight and his mid-30s or so parents, but the most fascinating aspect of their arrival while I was ellipticizing (a word now, yes?) was that the man, who had crutches, brought a folding lawn chair, unfurled it, and sat in it with a book while his wife and son ran around the track which was not even in the same room. At first I thought, “Maybe he’s going to work out his arms,” or “Maybe that book is really heavy.” But no, he simply sat in a folding lawn chair reading a book. He, thankfully, faced his chair in the opposite direction of my workout. Staring him down would have been nightmarish.
I came back upstairs when I was done and felt good, but wondered how effective the whole process had been. When I was doing Couch to 5k I was basically exhausted every day when I finished working out. Is exercise supposed to feel that way? I don’t know, but I didn’t feel like I wanted to die when I was done today. Victory.