Today was my first day at the gym...again.
After months of coming up with every conceivable excuse (real and fabricated), I decided that it was time to go and once more try to achieve the body that I have been dreaming of.
My love affair with the gym was an on-and-off relationship. But more of the "off"...
This love-hate relationship began roughly 2 years ago. It was a result of a not-so-good employee annual physical exam. Years of inactivity (I was--am--lousy at sports) and a semi-sedentary lifestyle resulted in cholesterol levels that were above the norm for someone my age. I felt like I was doused with a bucket of iced water. And so, armed with my credit card, I ventured into uncharted territories and enrolled at Slimmer's World Megamall (how's that for plugging?). I got the whole nine yards. Personal Training sessions, skin clinic programs, nutritionist, I had it all. (To this day, my credit card bears the mark of that "kaskas" spree)
My first day at the gym was frightening, to say the least. I felt like a schoolboy on his first day at a new school. I felt as if everyone was staring at the newbie being oriented on the do's and don'ts. Everyone knew and were "buddy-buddies" with each other. I felt left out. So, in order to blend into the background, I kept mostly to myself and followed my personal trainer around like a puppy dog.
The first time I laid eyes on the machines, I got the impression that they were actually machines for inhuman torture cleverly disguised to look like gym equipment. This impression was reinforced when I actually started using the machines. I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew my lungs out. And that was only the first 15 minutes. But Alan, my instructor, was patient and determined. Despite my numerous complaints and the faces that I made, he encouraged me and gave me that extra push to finish that first workout.
The day after, there was hell to pay. I felt pain in areas that I didn't think could be capable of experiencing pain. As I struggled to get out of bed, I silently cursed my trainer for putting me through torture. I felt stiff and limped my way through most of the day. Just the slightest touch and I would squeal in pain. But beyond the aches, I felt something unexpected--exhiliration. I felt a "high" knowing that I took that first step towards a healthier lifestyle. That is why, two days -- and a few Alaxans -- later, I found myself trudging back to the dungeon to face the machines of torture. Another two days later, I was making my way back. And so on and so forth. I was becoming a masochist.
This went on for another two years. But there were numerous periods that I found excuses not to show up. Work, helter-skelter schedules, flu, colds, trips to the province, break-ups. I wanted quick results, but I wasn't putting in enough commitment and discipline for me to achieve the results that I so wanted.
The last time that I seriously went to the gym was last December. I stopped because my long time instructor decided to leave for Dubai in search of greener pastures. He took along with him my drive to workout since he had inspired me, not just to get a better body, but to be a better person as whole. He made me realize that I can be more that who I am now if I just try and persevere. He was my instructor and my mentor. When he left, I felt I had lost a very good friend.
Flash forward to February of this year. I had received my physical exam results and it was deja vu. I had drilled in my mind that I would return to the gym in March. Unfortunately, I slipped and fell while cave exploring in Sagada, resulting in an injured wrist. Another perfect excuse. Haha. Then there were earth shattering discoveries about the guys I was dating that made me even more depressed. And then there was the recent break-up. In all of these, I found the perfect excuse not to pump iron. I slid back to the sedentary lifestyle that I had wallowed in more than 2 years ago.
But I was in for a rude awakening. Last week, out of the blue, my staff commented that I was getting pudgy around the midsection. I knew she meant well. And then 3 days ago, I overheard my contractual employees say that they thought I was quite good-looking save for the fact that I had a beer belly. I froze because I don't drink beer. I felt insulted. But I knew that this was true. I had let myself go.
It made me think and reflect. In the two years that I have been a gym member, have I achieved my objective? A resounding NO. While it is true that there were improvements in energy levels, I felt less lethargic, and there was a slight improvement in my general appearance, I have yet to see that 30" waist and 35 - 40" chest that I had set out to achieve. In the heels of a recent break-up, I thought that maybe this was the reason why I haven't been successful in my most recent attempts at a relationship?
And so, for the nth time, I found myself walking the familiar halls that I used to view as a dungeon. But I realize that things are different now. The gym has become my solace when I feel depressed. I pour out my frustrations into my workouts, I channel my anger towards lifting weights. The place has become my refuge. The people have become pillars from whom I draw strength, inspiration, and humor. I have shared in their triumphs and struggles. Their stories have become mine.
Like the prodigal son, my return was welcomed with cheers and greetings. It's as if I have never gone at all. I was home, at last.
I come back with a firm resolve to be a better, more confident, more disciplined, and more committed person. Hopefully, this time, I will be successful.
==================
It's amazing what a break-up can do. Aside from the usual heartache and nights crying yourself to sleep, a firm resolve to make yourself more palatable to the human eye is formed. Of course, there is also an underlying purpose. To make the guy rue and regret the day that he broke up with you. And what better way to do that than to get a body to die for? Haha. But that's another story...
My love affair with the gym was an on-and-off relationship. But more of the "off"...
This love-hate relationship began roughly 2 years ago. It was a result of a not-so-good employee annual physical exam. Years of inactivity (I was--am--lousy at sports) and a semi-sedentary lifestyle resulted in cholesterol levels that were above the norm for someone my age. I felt like I was doused with a bucket of iced water. And so, armed with my credit card, I ventured into uncharted territories and enrolled at Slimmer's World Megamall (how's that for plugging?). I got the whole nine yards. Personal Training sessions, skin clinic programs, nutritionist, I had it all. (To this day, my credit card bears the mark of that "kaskas" spree)
My first day at the gym was frightening, to say the least. I felt like a schoolboy on his first day at a new school. I felt as if everyone was staring at the newbie being oriented on the do's and don'ts. Everyone knew and were "buddy-buddies" with each other. I felt left out. So, in order to blend into the background, I kept mostly to myself and followed my personal trainer around like a puppy dog.
The first time I laid eyes on the machines, I got the impression that they were actually machines for inhuman torture cleverly disguised to look like gym equipment. This impression was reinforced when I actually started using the machines. I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew my lungs out. And that was only the first 15 minutes. But Alan, my instructor, was patient and determined. Despite my numerous complaints and the faces that I made, he encouraged me and gave me that extra push to finish that first workout.
The day after, there was hell to pay. I felt pain in areas that I didn't think could be capable of experiencing pain. As I struggled to get out of bed, I silently cursed my trainer for putting me through torture. I felt stiff and limped my way through most of the day. Just the slightest touch and I would squeal in pain. But beyond the aches, I felt something unexpected--exhiliration. I felt a "high" knowing that I took that first step towards a healthier lifestyle. That is why, two days -- and a few Alaxans -- later, I found myself trudging back to the dungeon to face the machines of torture. Another two days later, I was making my way back. And so on and so forth. I was becoming a masochist.
This went on for another two years. But there were numerous periods that I found excuses not to show up. Work, helter-skelter schedules, flu, colds, trips to the province, break-ups. I wanted quick results, but I wasn't putting in enough commitment and discipline for me to achieve the results that I so wanted.
The last time that I seriously went to the gym was last December. I stopped because my long time instructor decided to leave for Dubai in search of greener pastures. He took along with him my drive to workout since he had inspired me, not just to get a better body, but to be a better person as whole. He made me realize that I can be more that who I am now if I just try and persevere. He was my instructor and my mentor. When he left, I felt I had lost a very good friend.
Flash forward to February of this year. I had received my physical exam results and it was deja vu. I had drilled in my mind that I would return to the gym in March. Unfortunately, I slipped and fell while cave exploring in Sagada, resulting in an injured wrist. Another perfect excuse. Haha. Then there were earth shattering discoveries about the guys I was dating that made me even more depressed. And then there was the recent break-up. In all of these, I found the perfect excuse not to pump iron. I slid back to the sedentary lifestyle that I had wallowed in more than 2 years ago.
But I was in for a rude awakening. Last week, out of the blue, my staff commented that I was getting pudgy around the midsection. I knew she meant well. And then 3 days ago, I overheard my contractual employees say that they thought I was quite good-looking save for the fact that I had a beer belly. I froze because I don't drink beer. I felt insulted. But I knew that this was true. I had let myself go.
It made me think and reflect. In the two years that I have been a gym member, have I achieved my objective? A resounding NO. While it is true that there were improvements in energy levels, I felt less lethargic, and there was a slight improvement in my general appearance, I have yet to see that 30" waist and 35 - 40" chest that I had set out to achieve. In the heels of a recent break-up, I thought that maybe this was the reason why I haven't been successful in my most recent attempts at a relationship?
And so, for the nth time, I found myself walking the familiar halls that I used to view as a dungeon. But I realize that things are different now. The gym has become my solace when I feel depressed. I pour out my frustrations into my workouts, I channel my anger towards lifting weights. The place has become my refuge. The people have become pillars from whom I draw strength, inspiration, and humor. I have shared in their triumphs and struggles. Their stories have become mine.
Like the prodigal son, my return was welcomed with cheers and greetings. It's as if I have never gone at all. I was home, at last.
I come back with a firm resolve to be a better, more confident, more disciplined, and more committed person. Hopefully, this time, I will be successful.
==================
It's amazing what a break-up can do. Aside from the usual heartache and nights crying yourself to sleep, a firm resolve to make yourself more palatable to the human eye is formed. Of course, there is also an underlying purpose. To make the guy rue and regret the day that he broke up with you. And what better way to do that than to get a body to die for? Haha. But that's another story...
