It’s like half way through January now, and as you’d expect the gyms are raking in the cash from “new year, new me”-ers who are likely to spend a couple of weeks showing willing and then cave under the realisation that eating carbs and sitting on your arse is loads more fun than jogging halfheartedly on a treadmill and being judged by regular gym goers. I really don’t blame them.
I’ve actually been a member at my local gym (Greenwich Pure Gym for anyone who wishes to see me in lycra) for over a year now, and I am by no means a regular gym goer. While I’d love to be one of those people who “loves” exercise – surely these people are either deluded or completely full of shit – I find it really hard to drag my lardy arse to the gymnasium and work out on the regs. Although I do go through phases of showing up four times a week, I go through phases of staying home and eating cake way more often, hence the lardy arse.
There are several reasons that I – like many other chubsters – loathe the gym, and it’s not just because I’m lazy:
- It’s fucking intimidating.
Deciding that you want to lose a bit of weight is a pretty big deal for a lot of people, and actually going through with it and signing up at the local gym is extremely daunting. There’s the treadmill goddesses that you have to contend with. You know, those “fitness fanatics” who wear a full face of make up, a crop top and booty shorts to run effortlessly for years on end. Some of these gals take one look at my Bridget Jones style of working out (doing not a lot) and make it clear I should’ve stayed at home. It’s not the most inviting of scenes. Don’t even get me started on trying to get into the weight room.
- It’s fucking difficult.
Actually kicking yourself up the arse and dragging your poor feet to the gym is a task in itself, and when you’re actually there it really isn’t a piece of cake (oh how I wish it was a physical piece of cake). Gymming hurts, even though you do feel a little bit more fabulous when you’ve actually made it through a full work out. Like, do these fitness freaks actually enjoy waking up and not being able to move their limbs? They are so full of shit.
- It’s fucking time consuming.
Especially living in London, and going to gym that’s a short train ride away from my house, going to the gym adds a good 2 hours onto already lengthy day. Leaving the house at eight and getting home at eight is rank, and when it’s winter you feel like a death eater or something just slithering around at night. ALSO isn’t eating late at night bad for you? How can I eat when I get home from the gym at 8pm?! It’s just one long inconvenience.
- It’s fucking boring.
Running on a treadmill staring at the same stretch of wall for an hour is less than thrilling, and lifting weights whilst looking at yourself in a mirror is just fucking vain and weird. No matter how banging your gym playlist is it’s really hard to escape the fact that it’s proper boring.
- It’s fucking expensive.
I’m tight, basically. I only pay 25 barries a month but that’s still 25 of the Queen’s finest which could be spent on Dominos pizza.