Healthy Love-Hate Relationship

You know that thing you hate, but you do it anyway. Because you don’t really hate it. You just feel you hate it as you’re doing it, but then get this kick for having done it after you’ve done it. Because you secretly love it?

I swear it makes sense, just think about it a moment.

Still just me, huh? Fair enough. I guess I’m just a sucker for public punishment. So here I am again. Still sore from last time, about to add to the pain.

The kick is real, brain-chemistry real. You get flooded with this stuff that’s like a reward and makes you crave more, addiction style. Of course that’s part of it. But it’s also more than that.

It’s half February and I’m still here. I’ve beaten the statistics. I’ve gone from little knowing smirks in the beginning of January, to those half nods in greeting. What is that, community, respect, familiarity? Not sure, but it’s part of the kick. Like getting handed a towel and a locker key at the door without having to show my card.

The biggest surprise is I look the part now. When I first got here, I showed up in an old t-shirt and my lounge-around-the-house-boxers. And a wire bra. I hadn’t owned a pair of shoes with laces for two decades. It didn’t take me long to realize my mistake. Look at me now, all wrapped up in unflattering spandex and wearing proper running shoes that still smell more of rubber than sweaty feet.

Yes, I’m aware I look ridiculous. It’s hard to avoid mirrors in here.

I’ll meet up with the woman whose name I will curse silently for the next hour. She’ll kick my ass all over 3 separate rooms, mercilessly pushing me beyond what I thought I could do.

“Keep moving!”

“Get back up, you can do it!”

“Hold that squat…lower…lower”
my legs give out and I tumble on my ass
“Yes, to that point!”

I like her. I need someone to push me. I’ve been saying for years I would do it myself, and I never did. Leave me to my own devices and I’ll call it quits after 20 minutes. And she’s on my case the way the male personal trainer never was.

There’s a poster in here that always makes me laugh. “Winners make the effort. Whiners make excuses.” Obviously they underestimate my ability to whine while making the effort. Even if it’s only in my head because I’m too out of breath to vocalize it.

But you know what the very best part of my workout is? Crossing the street afterwards, and getting the best damned cappuccino on the island. With full fat milk. Because, fuck you, I earned it. Coffee never tasted so good.