I Love The Gym

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Mind over matter, or matter over mind?

If I tell myself enough "I love the gym"- will it become true?

Can I convince myself that sweating on an uphill incline squeezed between the Guido to my left and Malibu Barbie on my right is anything less than thrilling?

Can I ignore the driblets of sweat that sneak into my eye sockets and make me half blind as I climb up that invisible hill?

I'm really unsure.

And I am proud that I drag my reluctant butt (which is looking nicer and nicer with each squat, by the by) into said gym.  The gym attendents kinda' know me by name (or rather, by the ever-so-sad look on my face as I enter into the gates of bench-pressing Hell).  And though I am reluctant, I am obedient in my routine these days but I can't help but wonder:

"When will I learn to love coming to the gym?"

I seek out eye candy, which amuses my husband just a little (definitely not a lot).  Because eye candy at least gives you something to gawk at.  But somehow I could just never get on board with guys at the gym.

The great majority of men at the gym wear shirts that look like they came out of Simon Cowell's closet.  And they walk really slow and you can totally tell they are flexing at just about everything.  I feel embarassed for them as they look at me to see if I am looking at them.  If I could keep from rolling my eyes I might be able to focus enough to get a gander to see whether they really are worth looking at. 

But between the hair gel and tribal tattoos I just can't find the men at the gym a reason to put on my skankiest sports bra and matching track pants (that is, if I actually had any matching gym attire.)

And so I need to find motivation elsewhere. 

My size 7 jeans that I refuse to discard are motivation.  Damn you, sevens.

And I have tricked my brain into liking my runs at the gym a little more.  Now that I am streaming Pandora on my Blackberry I get to re-discover all kinds of music that keeps my mind from focusing on my throbbing calves.  If it weren't for Justin Timberlake, Lady Gaga and Miley Cyrus, I'd totally be 10 pounds heavier right now. 

Totally.

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