Stupid gym

While I was ever so innocently hiking the Boone Fork Trail with C. on Saturday, enjoying my company and my surroundings, thinking the occasional sweet thought about my family back at home and in Chapel Hill, L. willfully, deviously signed me up at the gym.

(S. swears he himself had nothing to do with it, but since he's been pleading with me to join ever since he started going back in August, I don't think he encouraged his dad to think twice before doing it. Saying it's for my own good after the fact only makes me cranky as they well know.)

I hate gyms. I had reminded L. of this on Friday, as we hiked in our local nature preserve. I reminded him of it yet again on Sunday, as we hiked there again. I'm not opposed to exercise, I just don't like gyms. I don't like the noise, I don't like the aesthetics, I don't think it very likely that I'll start going in the evenings when I get off work—or that anyone will want me to do that anyway—and the idea that I'll go at the crack of dawn is not worth considering: I don't like people at that time of day.

I've grudgingly agreed to go on Tuesday mornings, though—S. has drama class Tuesday evenings and I sometimes take him to the gym during the day on Tuesdays anyway. And I suppose I can go late in the day on Fridays and possibly on Saturdays.

But I'm not the least bit happy about it.

S., who has a personal trainer and has, accordingly, become quite knowledgeable about fitness, showed me a great deal of equipment this morning. Not everything, because I begged off due to brain overload after 30 minutes. He'll have to show me a few more times, no doubt, before everything stops looking like every other piece of equipment.

I spent most of my time on the treadmill, which, I might add, I could do at home. I listened to The Lambs of London with the volume turned up loud. I could still hear wretched pop music and TV din. I would have had a better time walking through the neighborhood.

I came home and undid any good the session might have done me by pouring myself a glass a lemonade. And then another.

I'm seriously considering making chocolate chip cookies. The only thing holding me back is knowing that S. won't help me eat them. He's into protein bars these days.

Stupid gym.