I don’t necessarily like going to the gym, but I do like people-watching and I also like mentioning it off-handedly later because it makes me feel better about myself (“oh yeah, when I was at the gym today blah blah blah…”). So alas, I drag myself to UREC (for you non-JMU non-party peeps that’s our on-campus gym).
First I check to see who is swiping JAC cards (also for you non-JMU non-party peeps you have to swipe your student ID to get in). If it is My Future Husband, I have to quickly position my hand around my JAC card so that our hands will touch briefly but electrically as he takes it from me, and then I smile coyly and tell him to also have a good day. It’s a really heated exchange that’s happened twice.
Next I go upstairs and immediately sign up for an elliptical machine. This usually involves staring down the girl whose machine I want so she knows that someone is waiting. Then as I wait I usually do a few of those weight-lifting things which gives me a good opportunity to text people incessantly.
I always bring my notebook or something to read because I think it’ll make the workout go by faster. It doesn’t. First of all I can barely focus on reading when I’m in my natural habitat (stationary and eating) so what about moving my arms and legs at a fast pace while getting increasingly sweaty would enhance my mental cognition? No, I can’t focus on the material I have to learn for a test tomorrow, but I can stare dumbly at a NASCAR race for five minutes without questioning it. I DON’T EVEN LIKE NASCAR. Another thing that happens is that I try to sneakily look over at my neighbor’s machines. I hate when the girl is working harder than me, because that’s unspoken code that we’re now in a completely unprovoked, one-sided competition to see who can burn more calories in a shorter amount of time. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but I’m crazy, and also competitive, and that combination has left me with three friends and a great reputation.
Then there’s the contraption that boys hang from in the middle of the room. I’m sure someone thought this was a great idea, to put all the girls facing all the boys lifting themselves up using their ‘roided-up and tatted-up arms so each gender could feed off each others' sexual attention. This person was wrong, because nothing that happens on this structure is appealing. Dudes sweat and grunt and probably love it because they’re being taken back to their chimpanzee roots (swinging from vines and stuff).
They say the best part about working out is how good you feel after. I whole-heartedly agree; I feel accomplished, healthy, and confident that every boy will now want to date me because I’ve completely transformed in the last 60 minutes. This feeling disappears about the time when, say, I LOOK IN THE MIRROR and realize that I look like I just walked out of a sauna and got hit by a bus.
Then I go get an 800-calorie strawberry sugar bomb smoothie to appease myself.