I joined a gym tonight. Me, the most avid anti gym person in the world, and I joined a gym. I’ve spent the majority of the past nine months in a work polo and jeans that I accidentally bought two sizes two big, and so I didn’t notice quite how much weight I had put on until I went to get dressed a couple of days ago, and realised very few of my clothes actually fit.
So, against the inner voice in my head screaming at me that I was going to regret it, I went in tonight – prompted by my friend – and signed up. I felt a touch uneasy about it as I filled out my details; what am I doing? I will have no idea what to do, or how to use the machines, and there will be the inevitable anxiety in the back of my brain about doing this new and unfamiliar thing where people can potentially see.
See, I’m a homebody. I’m a solitary kinda gal. So anything involving other people, or doing things in public that I’m unfamiliar with is not exactly my idea of a good time. But I am determined to push myself out of my comfort zone. I’m determined to experience things properly, especially now that I’m in a job that has regular and scheduled days off.
I can’t say for certain yet whether this endeavour of mine will be successful. I’m hoping it will motivate me, and that I, in turn, will motivate myself. I’m hoping that I’ll be like all the other people I know who find themselves actually loving going to the gym. Basically, I’m ready to make a fool of myself trying to use the gym machines, so long as the end result will make me fit into those clothes of mine!