A rude awakening

Went to the gym today, cause Lord knows it's about time I got back into the whole fitness and health thing, but sadly, all I got was a rude awakening.

I started out with the best intentions; I was going to exercise, work up a sweat and feel real good about myself, but alas. The moment I entered the locker room it was like a tidal wave that hit me smack across the face. The sight of all those (half-)naked, zero-complexions, buff and thin men struck me with a force like you wouldn't believe. No matter where you looked, it was like the inside of an Abercrombie & Fitch store, each and every one of them fit to be one of their poster boys. To make matters worse, the place was surrounded by mirrors. It was almost sadistic. Each time you saw your own reflection you would be reminded of the work that needed to be done or the body that you didn't have, but should have. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my gyms like I like my bathrooms: private and with limited reflective surfaces.

My mood had already dropped down a steady 20 percent and I hadn't even visited the actual gym yet. Unfortunately, that didn't turn out as well either. All of the exercise equipment was pushed together like one big mechanical sandwich. You literally couldn't move your arms to release steam without punching someone in the nose (or gut, depending on their height). Still I continued to be brave and pretend that I totally fit in with the buff and thin crowd. I got up on that tred mill and I ran. I ran like there was no tomorrow. Desperate to see that meter indicating burnt calories to rise. And it did, eventually. After about 20 minutes on the tred, I finished with a 256kcal burnt off and an average running speed of 8.5 kilometres. Of course, I never checked the numbers on the guy running next to me, out of fear that my results would be insignificant compared to his.

The second equipment I settled on was this step trainer. The first 2 minutes I didn't fully realize I was in fact going backwards, I figured: 'Hey, I'm exercising, must do me some good, right?' Although this is known to be a real fat burner it came with one absolute drawback; namely a full frontal view of all those motherfucking exercise junkies. You know the ones I'm talking about: young, tattoed (okay, so I realise that it sounds a bit hypocritical that I should put this in, since I've also got ink on my skin, but still, it serves the purpose), muscled, throbbing veins in the arms, enlarged biceps-triceps-quadriceps (whatever you call it) and of course that goddamn self-righteous smirk that says: 'I look better than you'. So I did my best to act composed and in control, while inside I was mentally devastated.

The thing that just killed me was the fact that roughly two years ago I wás that type of boy (minus the anabolic steroid thing that they've got going). I had worked my ass off for two years trying to lose weight and I succeeded. And I never felt better. But somehow, I don't quite know how, I let it all slip away. I had finally reached a point where I shouldn't be ashamed to go to the pool or to try on clothes in a medium size and yet, something inside of me, unsubconsciously, let me slide back into old habits. All of the hard work and effort that I had put in for the last two years, unravelled before my eyes and I did nothing to stop it. Sure, I went for the occasional run and in times of major public display (like the prom night of my college community) I followed a pseudo-diet to get me back on track, but afterwards it all fell apart again. So while I was busting my ass off on that godforsaken machine, I saw those boys parade their goods in front of me, and something inside me just broke. I soldiered on, nonetheless, but it got me thinking: 'Will I ever be like that again?', 'If I did it once, I can do it again, right?', but most of all, I asked myself what on earth I would have to do to look like them.

Deep down, I know it's wrong of me to think like that. We're all unique and special in our own way; regardless of weight, height, intellect or whatever other standard you wish to measure yourself by. But if you'd allow me to generalize, I think that deep down all of us want to be more than what they are now. Maybe they want to look like their celebrity (or pet, like that weird cat-lady person with the funny eyes), or maybe they want to be smarter, more outgoing, more muscular, have a larger cup size or whatever. I even dare claim that no-one is absolutely and unconditionally happy with who he or she is. I hope that I am wrong. I hope that there are people like that out there, without an ounce of shame, discontent or jealousy of what they could have, but don't. I really do. But I also know that there are a lot of people just like me. Wanting and waiting for the change to happen that will someday cause them to smile when they look into the mirror or can bring them to tears when they finally fit back into those clothes of which they had long ago abandoned all hope of ever fitting into again.

So if you are that person that is absolutely and unconditionnaly happy about himself, be proud, be happy, but most of all, cherish what you have and do your utmost best to take hold of it and to never let it disintegrate. Never, ever let it fade away, because you might just come to regret it infinitely afterwards.