You may or may not know this, but lately I have been obsessed with the idea of joining a gym. I have a treadmill taking up space in my living room, but I haven't used it since last summer. I had been very diligent about jogging a mile every day, but then the Big Sadness of 2010 took hold and I lost all interest in ever moving again. I am much less sad (for now), but I still haven't been using the thing - even though February was the month in which I had intended to start "working out" again. It is now mid-March and I still have not touched the thing. I don't know why, but as soon as I sit down on the sofa I am pretty much unable to do anything else for the rest of the night. It's a very comfortable sofa.
So I thought that maybe I'd be more inclined to work out if I joined a gym. There are two reasons for this assumption. Reason 1: I'd be paying for it. I f there is one things I hate it is wasting money. So I'd have to work out so as not to be throwing away $20 a month. Reason 2: The gym in question is directly on my way home. Like, I practically have to drive through it in order to get on the highway. So I would be doing my work out before the sofa got a chance to suck the life out of me. These both seem valid - right? The only reason I haven't joined yet is my inability to go anywhere alone. See, the brilliant part of this plan is that I'd be forcing Chris to come along with me. We'd go to the gym together on the way home from work on carpooling days, which happen twice a week. Unfortunately, Chris doesn't own any sneakers or any work out pants. So I can't join the gym until Chris buys these things (which might be a while since he is not nearly as excited about this plan).
I have been getting more and more antsy about this. I've been picturing myself trim and fit, running for miles and miles per week. I wasn't taking into consideration that a gym is not a magic zone that bestows amazing powers upon those within. The fact is that I am horribly out of shape and and a gym membership is not going to immediately change this. I became vividly aware of this yesterday when I went jogging with Kim at the museum. I Was very excited about the trip - I had on my track pants and the sneakers I hadn't worn since July. I was in the work out zone. We took Kim's dog with us and set off at a decent pace. The dog kept stopping to sniff things, but even with these short pauses I was pretty much done after five minutes. I was panting and out of breath; my legs hurt; I was coughing like crazy. Part of this is possibly the fault of the bronchitis from which I am still recovering. Unfortunately this can't possibly be to blame for all of my difficulty. We kept going at a decent walking speed for quite a while, though, and I didn't die, but I was still pretty ashamed of myself.
So I've decided that I should probably use the perfectly good treadmill in my living room to build up my strength before I jump into joining the gym. It wouldn't make sense to pay for a membership when I can only work out for five minutes at a time. That would be a silly waste of money. So I'm just going to have to suck it up and drag myself off of the sofa a few times a week until I am less likely to die from exercise. Uggggh.