I hate you, exercise.

This title sounds pretty self-explanatory, I know.

It has recently come to my attention that people in my social circles are working out every day of the week. EVERY DAY? How? These people don’t even have weddings to train for! Unlike me, wedding being T-4 months away. That’s like 8 hours a week!

What could I cut out of my very busy schedule? I could work less. I could chat with my friends less. Or I could watch Netflix or FB/IG less. “I’m an adrenaline junkie! Working out gives me even more energy and better sleep!” chirped my very enthusiastic friend. I had no idea she was working out every day of the week. What else did I not know about her? Do I know her but at all?

I caved to societal pressure. Today I joined ClassPass and went to some kind of “body shaping” class at the gym across the street from my apartment complex. The instructor was a tall, tattooed guy I want to call Jake because I forgot his real name. He was very cool. I am not cool. I am giggly and nervous.

I’ve been very out of shape since 2 years ago, when I got a boyfriend and did not feel the need to work out anymore. Bless his heart, my now fiance does not give me pressure to work out. 3 years ago, before we met, I had just moved to SF and everyone was working out. I logged 22 miles in one week at the peak of my physical activity. Rampant physical exercise seemed like a minimum requirement to meet a mate in this very competitive SF dating scene.

I’m not naturally good at activities requiring physical coordination. I lifted my first kettle bell ever. I had scary visions of dropping the kettle bell on my foot. I did every exercise wrong. But there was freedom in Doing It Wrong. Hah! I can’t follow instructions — but that’s ok! I’m me! I thought about things I AM naturally good at. Like crosswords. And DDR, back in the day. And whistling.

A very nice 20 something Filipino? guy kindly gave me pointers in between flirting with the other guy in our group of three in the obstacle course. It was his second time that day in a class with that instructor.

I tried not to look at the clock, because when I look at clocks in these classes I am shocked at how little time has passed. Holy %#@! It’s only been 30 minutes? “Are you ok?” asked my Filipino “classmate.”

Cooldown is the best part of any class, hands down. Child’s pose, I adore you. I did feel a sense of accomplishment at the end of the class, but I’m out after the wedding. Until then, I will have to just work out my hate for exercise. Pun intended.