Friday, February 25, 2011
The Gym Can Go Suck It
And this is a shitty, shitty reality. I know many people who LOVE the gym. Nothing makes them happier than pumping on some tunes and hitting the weights and cardio machines for two hours.
No pain, no gain! They scream through their protein shakes.
Lift! Lift! RAWR! They bellow as they benchpress heavier and heavier stacks of metallic poundage.
And then there's me, who can't even muster up the desire to put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to walk ONE BLOCK to my gym.
Why? Am I lazy? No, not really. I walk all over this city, forgoing public transportation for my own two feet. I recently began pro-wrestling lessons that meet 3 times a week for 2 and a half hours each session where I get plenty sweaty, albeit by rolling around with jacked straight guys who STILL have no idea that I'm a raging queen.
To be honest, friends, I just find the gym boring. Walking to nowhere on an elliptical. Returning to the same damn machines and exercises. It makes my skin itch. It makes my heart sink. I would rather have someone kick me in the groin for an hour, so long as I could play Playstation while they're doing this.
Also, let me put it out there: even when I was a skinny twink (many, many years ago), I did not achieve this by working out. No, I instead resorted to unabashed anorexia. It's true. I'd rather starve and contend with the rumbling in my stomach then walk across the parking lot next to my dorm to go do my gay duty in my college's well-appointed Health and Wellness Center. I just couldn't do it!
So here's me on an elliptical:
Minute One: Yes! I am into this!
Minute Five: Hey, I wonder what's on TV
Minute Eight: Fuck. Nothing on TV.
Minute Ten: Oh look! A hot guy doing squats!
Minute Twelve: Why can't I look that hot doing squats.
Minute Thirteen: Has it been forty five minutes yet?
Minute Fourteen: Fuck.
Minute Sixteen: Now it HAS to have been forty five minutes!
Minute Seventeen: FUCK ME JESUS!!
Minute Eighteen: ::silence, Justin has headed home::
This sucks two-fold because the human body has determined that the only way to stay fit and sexy is to blast your quads, bis, gluts, and pecs to oblivion in order to get that delicious curvature and tautness that so many gay men determine to be a pre-requisite to even allowing you to buy them a drink.
I'm not a FAT guy, mind you. But I'm certainly not lean or toned. This fact doesn't please me. But, goddammit, even though I'd LOVE to be able to shrug off all of my clothing and pad around Hell's Kitchen in a bikini thong and have everyone get hit by cars because they cannot take their eyes off of my bulges and curves, I just cannot go through with the work side of it. I go to the gym once and wonder when the fuck my six pack plans on showing up.
I then go out and drink to drown the sense of failure.
I wish this could change, but it is a fundamental flaw in my character. When I DO get myself to the gym, the effort isn't put into lifting or running - I have the physical capacity to do so. No, it is ALL an internal battle to not scream at the top of my lungs, fling my towel at the next muscle stud passing by, and stomp home furious that I wasted my time.
I even have a membership to New York Sports Clubs, which I bought thinking that if I spent $100 a month on a membership, that the investment would stir my loins enough to get me to the gym. Not so.
I actually get monthly cards from NYSC:
Dear Justin, thank you for sending us $100 for the hell of it. We love you. Maybe you'd like to send more next month? Here's an envelope.
I'm sure there's more I can be doing with this $100, but, hell, if I'm too stubborn to go to the gym, I figure this expenditure is self-inflicted punishment for my bullish behavior.
What about you?
How do you view the gym? Do you love it? Do you like it? Are you just amazing at overpowering your contrasting desires to do basically anything else besides lift and run in place?
Would love to hear your take.
- Justin Luke