Shame, Pain, and Joy

I experienced all three of these emotions in the course of just one hour. I went to the gym.

As I walked through the fluorescent sweatshop, I passed an array of perfectly sculpted, glistening work-out gods. I kid you not, I was the only one there, dry and with a bad BMI.  I'm not grossly overweight but next to the skeletons, I looked like a sumo wrestler.  "Where is the fat section?" I almost asked, because I was obviously among the "after picture" crowd. Hence, the shame.

I got on the treadmill and wondered what masochist thought up this machine. When do we ever walk or run at a 25 inch incline? Correction, when do I every walk or run at a 25 inch incline? One guy next to me had the incline so high I thought he'd tip over.  I was glad when he left, but my glee was short lived when I realized I was the only one not running in a long row of treadmills.  My sweaty hand gripped the handle bar and held on for dear life, as I reluctantly increased the treadmill speed. It's not a race you say? Tell that to the girl next to me who kept sneaking peeks at my pace number.  I increased the speed again.  Bring on the pain.

After enduring 45 minutes of self-induced torture, I slowly got off the "treadmill devil". Did I feel victorious and renewed because I completed a solid workout?  No. Was I tired and hungry? Yes.

So where does the joy come in?  When I realized I could still walk out of the gym without assistance. When I got home and found the Ben Gay in the medicine cabinet. When I resisted the incredible urge to burn my gym membership card and the workout clothes I was wearing.

Yes, I will live another day and I will return to the gym.

Tiny, subdued, yet satisfying joy.

Stay tuned. :-)