Wednesday, 10 December 2014

Why I go to the Gym

I hate the gym. Not as much as some things like, say Brussels Sprouts, but I hate the gym.

The music is always too loud, the room smells of sweat, and sometimes I feel a bit like a Hamster running and running and running and not getting anywhere.

I puff and pant on the cross-trainer for the first five minutes thinking 'Damn, this is hell. Damn, I could be at home with a good book and some tea. Damn, damn, damn...wait, what?'

Because around about that last damn, something happens. Maybe its adrenaline or something equally as scientific but all I know is, I get high. Oh yeah, high. I feel alive, every inch of my body working, straining and stretching and wondering how much further it can go. Just a little bit, just a little, little bit more...and maybe we could just go that little bit further...and where will that lead us?
My mind, usually quite like the aforementioned hamster that never quite stops, suddenly shuts up, sits down and enjoys the ride. Believe me when I say, this never happens. Not even when I am unconscious!

My body takes over. It wants to run, to exercise, to stretch itself out and test its limits and it can do that in this sweat-filled, noisy, public room.
This knowledge astounds me.
And what's more, while I am exercising, it would appear that I am also exorcising.
Stressful day at work? Bam, no problem after a work out.
Worried about something personal? Ditto
Tired? Hungover? Generally grumpy? Ditto, ditto, ditto.
PMS? Well, lets admit it...some miracles are never meant to happen, but it does help.

So this is why, on a wet and wild night in freezing December, I drag myself back out of my cosy, Christmassy flat and down to the local gym to spend an hour sweating on space-age machines.

But I still hate the thought of it. That's why that was last night, and tonight I opted to sit by my Christmas tree and make a blog post about it instead!

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