Today was my third day in a row at the gym.
And god it’s terrible. My muscles have been slightly sore for a few days. Not to the point where I have to rest–unfortunately–but enough that I can’t keep my mind off it.
I’ve gone three times, and I still don’t have an actual gym bag. Or a mini-deodorant, a nice pair of sneakers–not a single small towel. Hell I even need new earphones since mine start falling out 15 minutes into a workout. All of which is a pretty good accomplishment for me. Normally I’d use that as an excuse to not go until I’m “ready”.
Granted, it took me two weeks to actually go to the gym after signing up. Since, however, that was the result of social anxiety it’s a little permissible.
Back in middle school and high school, I dreaded P.E. Sure the exercise part wasn’t fun for a fat kid like me, but the cherry on top was changing in front of everyone. I’d make sure to have my shorts handy, covering myself with them as I took off my jeans. Changing shirts was easier–all it required was taking my arms out of the sleeves, sliding them into the new shirt, and voila! Changed shirts without exposing my stomach.
Working out after work means that I’ve also got to take a sports bra with me. Previously, I’d skulk off into a stall since the idea of being absolutely topless in public was absolutely terrifying. Now I’ve done it three times.
It’s not surprising that getting exercise is good for you, both mentally and physically. But it’s different to experience it for yourself. Not only have I done things I normally wouldn’t–while sweating like a pig–but I feel really good afterwards. Tired, but good. The most interesting part is that I have yet to get any cravings for fast food. All I want to do is drink water and eat some sweet fruit.
So I say bring on tomorrow.
Until then, it’s time for me to collapse now.