I had a very detailed dream this morning. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the details – we all know how own dreams are fascinating, while listening to someone else’s is akin to staring at white-washed walls while trapped in a straight jacket. But in this dream, I was trying to escape the Wicked Witch of the West (I stole her broomstick, because I’m bad-ass like that) and in trying to hide from her, I thought, “What’s the one place she’ll never think to look for me?” So I rode my bad-ass broomstick-stealing self straight to the nearest gym.
That’s right – there were people doing cross-fit classes (at least I think that’s what they were doing, they looked pretty damn miserable) and guys puffing out their massive muscles in front of mirrors, and chicks in painted on lycra sweating on spin cycles. While I wandered around this massive torture chamber building and tried to look inconspicuous.
FYI the Wicked Witch didn’t catch me, or at least, she hadn’t by the time I woke up.
But here’s the thing about gym bunnies (and gym bucks?!). I have no problem with people wanting to be fit and healthy and yadda-yadda-yadda. Good for them. Yay, you guys. But I have a problem about being lectured, even in the most *loving* way from gym converts.
I get it. You may not believe it, but about ten years ago I was a gym bunny convert, trotting off to sweat and strain and suck down protein shakes, the whole works. Six days a week I went to church I mean, the gym. And yeah, I saw results – massive results. I was in better shape than I had been since high school. So, I get it. Being able to fit a size 10 skirt feels super-awesome and you just want to tell every-freaking-body how super-awesome exercise is and-why-aren’t-you-doing-it-too-so-you-can-be-super-awesome-like-me?
Was I happier being a gym bunny? Nope.Because suddenly things that I loved were taboo. Like coffee. And cookies. And if you can pretend a plate of yogurt with a few almonds is a delicious alternative to ice cream, than you’re a better person/actor/robot than I am. 😉 Then there was the juggle of organising baby sitters for my then young children, and EVERY SINGLE THING in my life having to be organised around the Mon-Sat gym treks. It was a battle I just couldn’t win and like all obsessions, this one faded when it got just too damn hard and when it no longer resembled anything like fun.
I don’t do gyms any more, I walk. And I’ll admit, I’m not particularly great at doing that regularly. I’m fortunate, though, that my friends aren’t gym bunnies (or bucks) and don’t make me feel like crap for being a slacker. I have one particularly good friend who this year took up ballroom dancing and she’s also started going to a gym. Do we talk about it? Sometimes, but she rarely mentions it to me because her results speak for themselves. She looks good and she’s having loads of fun with her DH dancing. And she still eats the occasional cookie and chocolate. #Winning
Today is also my Miss 15’s birthday – she’s now to be known as Miss 16 for the next 365 days. Being that I do want to be around to see my Miss 16 become Ms. 26 and Ms. 36…today I’ll go for a walk in the sunshine.
And then I’ll eat some birthday cake and enjoy it…