We went to the James last night. (For those of you that don’t know, I call it the James because I don’t feel familiar enough to call it Gym). At the James I came to some realizations about myself.
I like “going” to the James… as in, “I am going to the James tonight” or “Its been nice talking to you but I have to go, we are going to the James”. I like thinking about going to the James, how I will burn calories, I will help myself lose weight, I will do, instead of wish I did.
I also like having gone to the James, “oh, my calves hurt today, I was at the James last night.” (this is reality right now) “Sorry I missed your call I was at the James!” I like thinking about how what I did will help me; I like knowing that the hurt I feel is a good hurt, it’s productive, it means I might not be this fat for the rest of my life.
I even like being at the James. “oh Hi there James employee, haven’t seen you in a while” I like watching the machine as it tells me the calories I am currently burning or the distance I have managed to go while staying in one spot. I like saying to myself “Way to go you! You made it, you are at the James!! You are not home on the couch with a bag of chips feeling sorry for yourself while you watch biggest loser!!”
What I don’t like, I find, is the exercising part.
You know, that part where the leisurely walk on the treadmill starts to feel…uncomfortable?
Or those few minutes on the arc trainer when I think I might actually die? I don’t enjoy that shit.
You know that expression “feel the burn”? Well I feel it, and I want to react exactly the same way I would if I were literally on fire at that exact moment.
When I “feel the burn” I want to stop drop and roll right there. Somebody get me a blanket, cover me up, pat me down, and tuck me in. Personally, I don’t like to be on fire!
My husband the Optimist (hahahahahahahahaha) thinks I’ll enjoy the “burn” once its not so… burn-y.