Dear Gym: if you were a person...

 ...I think I would round-house kick you in the face.  What?  IT'S WHAT YOU HAVE TAUGHT ME!

So, in a previous post I detailed my feelings about my occasionally abusive, on-again off-again boyfriend "Jim" (also known as "the gym").  Ah, Gym (I am going to capitalize this so it's more like a person that I can justifiably yell at rather than an inanimate object.  Because yelling at objects makes me a crazy person).  Things had improved so much since the last time I posted about you and then what do you do?

You sucker-punch me right in the muscles I didn't know I had.

You make me love you and then you make me wish I never knew you.  I get all dependent, going to you several times a week, and then you just turn on me.  I will probably go back to loving you soon, but right now I just think you're a jerk, Gym.

Just look at those smug little machines and condescending mats.

 

I guess it's not totally your fault.  I wouldn't need you so much if it wasn't for my love-hate relationship with Food (both best friend and arch-nemesis).  I truly love food in nearly all of its forms.  Melty.  Crispy.  Gooey.  Frosty.  Cheesy.  Sweet.  Crisp.  Juicy.

What can beat a cold, melty ice cream cone on a hot day?  A hot slice of pizza oozing cheese and delicious sauce over a crispy crust?  A fresh cookie with still-melting chocolate in it?  Cupcakes!  Tacos!  Shepherd's Pie!  Pasta!  Milkshakes!

Don't even get me started on milkshakes.

Sweet lord, I want you.

Food, I was unfailingly loyal to you in all your tastiness for years.  YEARS.  And then, right after college, you threw a wrench into the works.  You ran off with my metabolism.  And you still haven't returned it.  Suddenly, all my normal foods and normal portions were doing markedly abnormal things to my body.  What, you thought my hips were SUPPOSED to be that size?  You thought that since I ate pears so much I would really appreciate being gradually turned into one?  You realized that what every girl needs is thighs that make it look like two hams are having a battle to the death in a pair of jeans?

This is what came up when searching "ham death-battle".  It is awesome and I'm keeping it.

You drove me to Gym, Food.  You did this to me.  My pain is your fault.

But I still can't quit you, Food.

Gym, I thought we were working things out.  We accepted that I will never in a million years enjoy running around outside and moved on from that to stair machines, bicycles, elliptical machines, and even the occasional treadmill (turns out running sucks less when there is a television in front of you).  We were taking classes, Gym.  Kickboxing classes.  Core classes.  That one yoga class that we quit because the incredibly sweet instructor had a breathy little voice that kept making me fall asleep.  All was well.

But this week, you turned on me.  You decided that getting into shape deserved punishment and so, for no reason, you made me sore.  Not just worked-out-hard-yesterday sore.  You gave me can't-find-a-position-to-sleep-in-because-everything-hurts sore.  And seriously-it's-been-three-days,-why-does-this-still-hurt sore.  And HOW-CAN-THAT-BE-IN-PAIN?!-IS-THERE-EVEN-A-MUSCLE-THERE? sore. 

 Muscle in front of the shin?  O, it's there.  And it's angry.

And you know the worst part, Gym?

I can't quit you either.

And it's not just because the membership was expensive.  It's because for all your abusive ways, I like you.  I like feeling sore and strong and sweaty after a workout.  I like feeling healthy and powerful.  I like fitting into clothing that had been relegated to the bottom of my dresser drawers.  I like being back in a shape recognizable as female human being and not amoeba.  I even like you when it hurts.  And now I sound like a masochist.

I am not putting up a picture to go with "masochist".  Just...no.

So, Gym, even though I think we may need counseling or something, our dysfunctional little relationship is still going strong.  I am going to miss you while I am away this week.  And I know you are going to punish me for my absence when I get back.  But I am looking forward to that too.

Just, please lay off the soreness.  Just a little bit.