The smallness of the gym I've chosen as mine in Leonardtown is demotivating me. Same face at the desk, same people (if anyone is in there) in the weight room. I'm accustomed to the very large, beautiful, sophisticated One Life Fitness in Norfolk, the less elegant but still huge location in Virginia Beach, and my familiar Navy gym in Norfolk. I really miss them all, the last one most of all because I had made it my home with my gym partner, Liz. In the first two gyms, I could hide behind the crowd and do my less than attractive supplementary exercise (think squats with the dumbbell in between your legs to work your inner thighs--or heel and toe walks, etc), or if I were having a fat day or just a bad day in general. Here, there's absolutely zero hiding. I miss escaping into those big, familiar gyms.
Particularly embarrassing, I asked the small gym on which I settled for information on their available job positions after very, very much pushing from my husband. He really wants me to earn any sort of supplementary income, and he thought the gym would be a good fit since I'm entertaining personal training as a possible stray from my English teaching background. It didn't stop there. Hand in hand with inquiring about the job was filling out an application and calling to check on its status--all husband driven. Well, small gyms are no place to make your own after job hunting. Now, every time I walk past the same desk person who both took my application, encouraged me to call the manager and talked to me for one of the interviews, I am met with a weird stare and crossed arms where there was once a friendly greeting. "I didn't want the job anyway, buddy, especially if having it requires me to glare at guests who do anything out of the ordinary card swipe/workout/exit," my inner voice defensively maintains. It's less than motivating to hop into the gym on a regular basis now. How weak of me to let this stand in the way of an activity, more, a routine, that's shaped the very core of who I am for more than half of my life so far. If it weren't for it's less than a mile distance from my new home, I'd abandon it and flee to the free Navy gym in Patuxent River. Perhaps I should anyway...except the gas prices... Maybe I should just work out at Patuxent until I have established a regular routine and then mix in this very tiny, truly small town gym.
I think I've also been depressed mildly due to the new move and other factors, so the gym job rejection isn't the only culprit behind my laziness for two months. Because I'm beginning to resign to my life here (and also because, just in time for spring weddings and beach season, my muscles are atrophying in a major way), I'm going to snap out of it today. No more excuses--no "I'm traveling home for Easter tomorrow so what's the point of doing two workouts and then taking time off?"...nope. I'm working out. No excuses. Breaking the excuse change.
But, let this be a lesson that small towns are not always synonymous with the nice and down to earth reputation that they've earned in other ways.
No comments:
Post a Comment