The truly great thing about this planet is that it’s full of all kinds of people, some of them horrible, some of them charming, and all of them occasionally smelly.
There’s a certain kind of person who gets up early and drinks shakes with herbal ingredients no one has ever heard of. They wear shirts made out of futuristic fabrics that sound like electronic bands, like “luxtreme” and “luon”. They drown what sorrows they have in turkey bacon and fiber cereals and they love working out. They LOVE it. If exercise was a person, these are the people who take it on a hike to a moonlit meadow to propose, marry it in an understated and gluten-free outdoor wedding, and have its slender, tan babies.
There’s another kind of person in this world who sits around writing a blog post at midnight, eating potato chips and staring longingly at the Taco Bell sign in the distance. This kind of person doesn’t like to move, ever. They’re incredibly creative about it, and will spend long hours planning clever ways to avoid any kind of physical exertion. I am this kind of person, and you know what? I’m not ashamed.
I am, however, a little bit worried about a future filled with heart disease, obesity, and those weird scooter things at the end of Wall-E. There’s a difference between being one of the people in Group 1 and being a little less steadfastly sedentary, and I understand that, so at the beginning of last week, my friend Adrienne and I decided to do something about it.
For Adrienne and me, working out is really hard. It’s not that we’re physically incapable of it. If something with large teeth was chasing us, there’s no doubt in my mind that we would be able to run and at least climb a tree or something. I’m not saying we’d survive, I’m just saying we could do it. We’re not fat, we’re just seriously out of shape. The real trouble is a mental block that occurs somewhere between the thought, “I should go to the gym” and the actual act of tying our running shoes and leaving the house.
Possible Explanations for My Gym Hatred
– Somewhere in my brain, there is a whiny six-year-old who hates exercise because it’s haaaaarrrd and I wanna be a princess when I grow up and everyone knows princesses don’t have to move and can we have mac and cheese for lunch?
– There’s a scene in Ghostbusters where Rick Moranis is running from a demonic minion and he slams into the window of a fancy restaurant. At first the diners ignore him but as he runs around outside, falling over chairs and into bushes, they all turn to stare at him until he slides squeakily down the window to his doom. The most neurotic part of my brain fervently believes that’s how my gym experience will go. The regular gym-goers with their yoga pants and their swishy ponytails will ignore me until my floundering becomes so obvious that they’ll all stare at me while I’m crushed to death by a barbell, then immediately go back to their ponytail swishing and yoga pantsing.
– My calendar says I don’t have time for the gym. Even if I can squeeze in half an hour, I’m just going to get tired and then the rest of my to-do list suffers. And what if I went out with my friends?! (Ha.) Or had a hot date?! (Haha.) Going to the gym would seriously cramp my social life! (Hahaha.)
With months of excuses under our elastic waistbands, we tried to think of things that would actually inspire us, and finally we came across the answer.
Things That Are Inspiring
– Rocky montages
– That poster of the cat hanging from the tree branch with his little hopeful paws
– Cologne slogans
– Lifetime original movies
I’m afraid of two things in this world (well, besides this entire list): the idea that Future Stephanie will have to order a pair of XXL Forever Lazy pajamas that match the scooter she needs after diabetes takes her foot, and the thought that people will learn about the most embarrassing moments of my sweet, short life. Luckily for me, Adrienne feels the same way and that’s how we stumbled on what is either the greatest workout plan of all time or the worst idea anyone has ever had.
We both sat down and listed the most embarrassing things we could think of. When we finished, we traded lists, sealed them and made a pact that goes something like this: Say I miss two workout sessions in a row, using a lame excuse like “I have a headache” or “I was just hit by a bus.” Adrienne now has to log onto my Facebook page and post one of my deepest, darkest secrets for all my friends to read. If she misses two sessions in a row, I get to do it to her. As Adrienne says, it takes a special kind of friend to be mean enough to post something like that but nice enough not to abuse the power.
So far it’s working well. We’ve been to the gym a lot this week. We’re too afraid to skip it.