Joining the Gym

Swoll

Bought a gym membership at 24 Hour Fitness. Lols. No, this is not a joke. Yes, a pink SALE sign taped to the front door brought me in. Yes it was part of their Black Friday sale, but still. I had been planning on joining the gym for months. I was a member in 2012. I went every Wednesday to yoga classes where a beautiful, happy lady rubbed lavender oil on our wrists and calmed the week away. I was going through a depression at the time, and it made everything peel back. I would leave on a high, mind perfectly calm before slumping back to the bell jar*.

In college, I got a gym membership. Since I went to the University of St Andrews, where golf was invented and the most famous golf course in the world just happens to be, I enrolled in introductory golf lessons. My Dad said I had to. He wasn’t sending me all the way to St Andrews to not play golf. I showed up hung over every week in the rain.

I was also part of a lifting group for a hot second. My guy friends and I would go and lift. I love muscles and have always wanted to be the kind of girl who goes to the gym in tight matching workout clothes looking stunning (mostly because they are stupidly in full makeup as well). I’m not that girl, though. I roll up in basketball shorts and an oversized Relay for Life t-shirt. Sadly, I got uninvited from the group after the first two sessions. I made the guys feel uncomfortable. I would stand with my 5lb weights ogling their biceps in the mirror, drooling.  I decided not to get a gym membership for the next three years.

Now, I’m back in LA. I drive everywhere, from one hour to two and a half hours a day minimum. The only exercise I do is grocery shopping. I nearly twisted my arm from holding a bag that was too heavy. It’s very hard to meet people my age, especially because I look very young. I’m awkward on Tinder and Bumble and okcupid. I just can’t take them seriously, and kind of detest everything that they stand for. My office is also very female dominant, so I joined 24 Hour Fitness. I love the stench of testosterone as I walk into the room, all the muscled men and women. I catch up on my news and dream about the six-pack I’m going to have one day.

Since I don’t know anyone, I can stare at their muscles as long as I want and I can’t get uninvited from the gym group. If I really want to, I can go talk to them. Real life Tinder!

 

* Literary Reference – The bell jar is a reference to the novel The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath all about a young woman living in New York and suffering from depression.