random thoughts – Day 1,399 – (Monday) – back

Looking back, I never intended to blow off the gym. From July into October, going to the gym was a regular event that involved either riding the recumbent bike or walking on the treadmill, with brief side trips to the 30-minute circuit training room for some or all of the machines (usually very few). The reward part of the trip was ten minutes on either the hydromassage bed or the massage chair.

Much of the motivation was fitting into the sequin pants bought for my niece’s wedding in Vegas, and it was a success. Specific goals help a lot. The week in Vegas to attend the wedding involved minimal physical activity and the fitness habit completely derailed. Upon returning, there was one visit to the gym each month in October, November, and December. Not very impressive.

The first week of the new year, the gym was avoided under the expectation it would be crowded with people and their New Year’s resolutions. There were a few mornings where I optimistically told myself I’d go to the gym after work and then at 5:00, forgot that was the “plan.”

Today, I was back on the treadmill. While drinking coffee I remembered I belong to the gym. The app for the gym has a “crowd meter” that shows how busy it is. This morning it was wasn’t too busy and I made a break for it. The odds were in my favor. There was a parking space near the door. There were open treadmills. The cardio room wasn’t crowded and there was no wait on any of the machines I wanted to use, nor on the massage chair. It was perfect.

There were stretches of years where I had the discipline of a true athlete. There were regular and dedicated workout schedules with various combinations of cardio, weights, road biking, kick boxing, yoga, skiing, roller derby, and assorted flavors of dance. And it was fun, or at least something that resembled fun. 

How I love you,
massage chair.

Some of the personal fitness eras were probably less about discipline and perfection and more about burning off stress, anger, and frustration with life, love, and career. Working out like a fiend bridged the crises of turning 30, then 40, then 50. It helped burn off the stress and pain of divorces and breakups, sh*tty jobs with great managers, and great jobs with sh*tty managers. There were side benefits like confidence when out and about in work and social situations. 

Now, it’s more about not keeling over when I climb a flight of stairs. Keeping the joints moving because the physical therapist said so. And not feeling and looking like total crap (just kind of crap-light). You know, so the sweat pants fit when sitting home alone watching Netflix. That's a good reason to go back. Right? And my bestie, the massage chair. That's really the best reason to be back there.