I've joined another institution

For the first time in my life, I have joined a gym. I never thought I would. I have been idealistically opposed to the idea for so long for so many reasons.
some of these reasons are:
1. I’m not so keen on parting with my cash unless I’m buying shoes, pants, necklaces or handbags.
2. Gyms scare me.
3. It's institutionalised and I'm convinced I partake in enough institutionalised activities.
4. I’m not good with routine. Well I am, but not long term routine. In fact, what I do is get fit and trim, then slowly get bigger only to then get trim again. The only difference that this time, getting trim has been difficult. The doctor tells me that my metabolism is slow and my thyroid is lazy. Yeah, you don’t say.

After last year's holidays and eating a week’s worth of great food, I realised that a lot of what I might have considered healthy eating is, in fact, terrible. As a result, I have cut out most wheat and most unnecessary dairy – like ice-cream. Apparently, I don’t need ice-cream to survive.

So as part of the next phase of my fitness and, I suppose, my life, two weeks ago I put all my anti-gym sentiments aside and I joined one! In saying that, though, some anti-gym sentiment remains as I have yet to dispell the idea that gyms are, in the main, horrendous places. Vacuous, sterile rooms with palpable undertones of judgement and general evil. Even the little tiny gym I have joined has me paranoid. Just this morning, in fact, I was on the treadmill, merrily walking and jogging to some classic ministry of sound tunes (LSH thinks that’s an oxymoron) when in my peripheral vision I spot two girls on the elliptical trainers behind me and one of them starts laughing.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My paranoid, high school shackles are raised. Is she laughing at me? Is my running style so bad that I make people laugh? Sure, I don’t wear make-up to the gym, but surely my face, well what she can see of it at least, isn’t that funny? I love the idea of working out in solitude and I like going to the gym on my own. But when there are two or more girls together, I feel small and vulnerable. I’m not wearing my face armour and I am not wearing my heels, nor a great pair of pants to protect me from being judged. In fact I am looking at my worst, wearing some crappy pants, an ill fitting tee-shirt and a hair bandana my folks picked in Bali that looks like it was made by a pot-smoking hippy in Nimbin. Suddenly I realise why Lorna Jane does so well. Her brand of gym gear stops women from feeling so hideous in front of other, fitter women. Wearing Lorna Jane says to the potential judgement maker: “caste your judgement elsewhere, I am wearing great, expensive, pants.”

I stop running and start speed walking only to realise that I am absolutely on my own. Stopping the treadmill, I worry about my next move, which is to go upstairs into the weights area. Suddenly, I don’t want to. I see these girls on the elliptical trainer and I want to leave. I can just imagine them whispering behind their hands about untidy hair. At that moment, I’d rather come back some other day when there are other, older, more quiet, mind your own business types in the gym. Thankfully, some part of my brain kicks in and tells me to stop being ridiculous and grow a pair. I grab hold of that thought tightly and walk upstairs, where one guy is stretching and he politely asks how I’m going. I grab my weights and start moving my arms. He doesn’t look at me, or laugh at my little weights. He just goes about his own exercise regime. I let out a giant, yet silent, sigh of relief and berate myself for being such a fool.

Returning downstairs, I see the young woman who was laughing is watching “Who’s line is it anyway?” A show that makes me laugh out loud too. Turns out, I was paranoid for no good reason. Well, if there was good reason, it wouldn't be paranoia, it'd be reality, but that's beside the point! I'd even go so far as to say that it is likely that no-one even noticed my existence. It’s just such unfamiliar territory and I’m not comfortable there yet. Probably none of the people are, since the gym is still quite new. It is possible we’re all just pretending to be cool and get on with our workouts, while hoping no-one notices our back sweat or any body odour. It’ll be a hard balance. I don’t want to make friends with anyone at the gym, even though I know that would  make me feel more comfortable. Yet I don’t want to feel like an awkward teenager either. Hopefully, the next two weeks see me establish some level of comfort and a good routine and I'll be institutionalised in no time. Mwa hah ha ha.