Working Out Terrifies Me

micael_sembello_maniac_remix_1983_the80sman_2As I walked home from the train this evening, I was texting with one of my best friends about how desperately we wished drinking wine and eating copious amounts of carbs could give us abs. File that under wishing for a money tree in my backyard, and Justin Timberlake to leave that hag of a wife of his for me.

I read an article this week that said if you were one of those millions and trillions of people who made a resolution to “hit the gym” every day in 2015, you probably fall of the wagon around this time. Which to me is perfect, because A. I loathe gyms, we have discussed this. If not, please refer to my previous posts about how I loathe gyms. B. I loathe crowds. And C. Like to do things on my own accord. So bye bye, people with empty resolutions, I just got me a Class Pass subscription. What, what!

Class Pass? Class Pass?! What is Class Pass you ask? Well … it is for people like me who hate the idea of going to a gym and running on something called an “elliptical,” counting down the minutes until I can stop, trying not to make eye contact with the fools around me waiting for the machine to open up, who rather have different class options that come with a trained professional to tell me EXACTLY how to get side abs.

Here’s the thing: I haven’t worked out in a while. Like a really long while. Like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. I think taking the stairs to the train platform instead of the escalator is exercise (not to mention I’m DEATHLY afraid of escalators … but that is a WHOLE different story). When it comes to going to a yoga class or drinking a bottle of wine and eating pub mix on my couch with my cat, what do you think wins? It is negative below outside people. screw the fitness factor.

I also lack a “fitness wardrobe.” I have a pair of cheetah print Reeboks, a pair of pink and white leather Reeboks (which are SO much cooler than they sound, they are vintage for Christ’s sake), and a pair of navy polka-dotted Keds. All I own are ratty t-shirts from different organizations I’ve been apart of that I hate, but keep for nostalgic purposes, and I have one pair of “yoga pants” from H&M that are like 10 years old, but love them too much to throw away (side bar: I don’t even think they are yoga pants, but it will be the closet thing I will ever own to them as I hate the idea of giving Lululemon any of my hard earned money). Which means I will be wearing my fancy stretch pants that I try to pull off as actual pants in real life to work out in.

I’m hopeless. I’m a mess. I hate having my hair in a pony tail. And I hate sweating. But God dammit, I want to not walk out of the shower naked and not have my eyes burn when I look in the mirror (I mean it’s not THAT bad … well … maybe … I mean who looks at themselves in the mirror naked, gross … :::shifty eyes:::).

It’s going to suck, this Class Pass thing, truly, it’s going to suck. I mean sure, basically having a golden ticket to any and all workout studios from pilates to rowing (Ps. I am SO pumped to try a rowing machine, but I’m pretty sure my arms will fall off), is a beautiful thing. And I’m quietly excited about it.

So I’m here to admit, I’m terrified of working out. I’m unprepared, and a huge wuss, and I like to look at myself as a delicate flower. Since my body is so drastically out of shape, I’m scared I won’t be able to walk the next day like an old lady, or keep up with the people who have already acquired side abs in class, and get laughed off the studio floor (some elementary school problems never seem to leave us, huh).

But fuck it, I’m up for the challenge. Class Pass, bring it. If you’re scared, too, it’s okay to admit it. You can sit with me in the back of the class and giggle and be all, “what the hell is THAT pose and will I break my vagina doing it?!” as we sit there in our non-workout pants and insanely cute sneakers that are absolutely not for workout purposes.

Side bar: Thanks to the awesome people over at Class Pass Philly for giving me this amazing opportunity to obtain side abs … even if I’m scared shitless.

PHI

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