THOUGHTS

The Humorous and Somewhat Abysmal Encounters of Couch Potato (aka Me) Meets Gym

Exercise and you’ll lose weight. Exercise and you’ll increase your energy levels. Exercise and you’ll improve in all aspects of your life.

As a self-proclaimed couch potato, I get the idea of it … but I really didn’t get it.

With all these acclaimed great life-altering benefits, I had to try it for myself! I even signed up for a monthly gym membership, falling prey to the myth that if I was paying for it, I’d be more inclined to use it. My coworkers religiously worked out every single day, so I would join them occasionally … but it really wasn’t for me.

You see, gyms are intimidating for non-gym people.

You walk in and there’s all these gym rat bros hanging out by the weights, all these women with great bods rocking skin-tight workout gear, and the occasional sprinter huffing and puffing around the running track. There are all these unwritten rules and norms that you have to learn, like what needs to be wiped down (i.e. the seat and machine that you’re using) and what doesn’t need to be wiped down (i.e. the free weights). You quickly deck yourself out in spandex workout clothes (if you’re a girl) so you’ve got the “uniform” to fit in, but you make sure it’s a “loose fit” to hide the belly pudge that you got flirting with the idea of going to a gym in the first place. And, very importantly, you make sure you’re wearing the right underwear because … panty lines.

If you’re lucky enough to be introduced to the gym with regular gym-goers, they tell you encouraging things like, “No one’s watching you. You do your thing. They’re all focused on their own workouts.” But you know that’s not true because you can hear those bros by the free weights talking …

Then you do the gym version of “the walk of shame” by having to walk to the other rack so you can grab the lightest weights available. Sometimes the shame ends there and you can continue attempting to blend in like a regular. But your furtive glances around to ensure you haven’t broken another faux pas betray you (like accidentally sitting on someone’s bench). This is all done while trying to play a silent version of Simon Says because you have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing or if you’re doing it right. Who knew there were so many angles in your body to consider?!

But all that comes assuming you’ve managed to grab the right weights. Sometimes, the lightest option is unfortunately still too heavy for you. Not so heavy that you can’t take it off the rack but heavy enough so that when you try, you’re stuck in this half attempt of an overhead press. You’ve managed to lift it high enough to be past the point of no return, but not high enough to complete the motion, so now your arms resemble awkward chicken wings while you try not to squawk in your panic to get the weight back down without injuring your toes.

And in case you missed it, this entire time that I’ve said “you”, I meant me. Maybe weights and strength workouts aren’t my thing …

Spin classes seem to be a real trend now. I at least know how to ride a bicycle. Maybe I’ll have better luck at that and oh my, look at that, a free spin class being offered right before Christmas. So I sign up with some coworkers (not the ones I just failed at doing weights with) because I misguidedly thought, “Safety in numbers”. After a slight hiccup where I needed the instructor to help me lower my seat (life is hard when you’re only 5 feet tall…), we are off!

In my head, there are two types of spin bikes. There are the ones where only you know what resistance level you’ve set your bike to, and then there are the ones where you can see what every bike’s resistance level is set to.

We had the latter type of spin bike in this class.

I started off pacing myself, starting at a low resistance level, because I really wanted to like Spin. Clearly, Weights and I weren’t going to be friends, so I wanted to make sure this first date with Spin worked out (pun intended).

But like a fool, I started paying attention to the resistance levels that the spin instructor was suggesting. Looking around and seeing everyone else set their bikes to a higher resistance level than me, I felt compelled to join them as a fellow spinner (is this the noun form of someone who does spin?). Because I’m looking at everyone else’s resistance level, they must be looking at mine too, right? And the good thing about doing spin is that there’s no equivalent of a “chicken wing/squawk” event.

Or so I thought …

You know that feeling when your stomach suddenly starts to feel queasy and you suddenly feel kind of bloated? You keep trying to swallow it down but the more you swallow and deny it, the faster you realize you’re nauseous? Then right before you need to hurl, you get that signature salty taste in your mouth as you begin to salivate and you know there’s no more time for denial?

Yeah, you know what’s coming. On top of that, remember how I said I came with coworkers. Hmm …

I quickly got off the spin bike and, because I was too embarrassed to admit the real reason I was leaving early, I pretended I had a meeting to get to, thanked the instructor, and, the moment I was out of eyesight, ran to the bathroom so I could throw up.

I probably don’t need to get into details about that but when the spin class let out, my coworkers found me laying on my back … on a mat … staring at the ceiling. Gingerly, I tell them, “Hey … I just threw up!” When there’s no possible way of denying it, you might as well own it! Also, who has work meetings right before Christmas?!

Spin, it’s not you … it’s me.

The third time’s the charm, right? Clearly, resistance and cardio workouts are just too intense for me. Let’s try … yoga! All the advertisements I’ve seen are so calm and tranquil, graceful and beautiful.

I decide to go to my first yoga class with yet a different coworker (I should probably stop working out with coworkers, eh?) and he warns me that this is hot yoga. At this point, I don’t know enough about yoga to know that there are different kinds of yoga, so I’m like, “Cool … you let me know when and where!”

I probably should have taken it as a warning sign when, right when I pull up, he shoves a muffin at me and makes me eat it. At this point, I’m worried about having another workout class ending with me at the toilet but hey, never try, never know.

We get into class early, set up our mats at the back of the room (beginner yogis know this is important), and settle into the dim lighting (+1 for self-confidence). We also take the time to acclimatize to the heat. Folks, Canadians are not known for their resiliency to heat and, right away, I felt like I was melting. Like Olaf (the snowman from Frozen; if you didn’t know this, you have no magic in your life).

The class starts and things are going pretty well for me. Heck yes, I can do Child’s Pose and breathe! I was a little confused about how Up Dog and Down Dog work and I’m having this inner monologue consisting of mostly rapid-fire questions (but no answers) like, “Toes tucked? Toes not tucked? Legs straight? NOPE, NOT FLEXIBLE ENOUGH FOR THAT! THAT HURT!” I felt like I was channeling my inner kungfu student with the Warrior poses and doing a decent job harmonizing with everyone else’s ohms.

That bit of self-confidence was quickly dashed. I must have missed the memo because all of a sudden, we’re doing variations of sit-ups and push-ups in 35C (95F) heat! A couple of Vinyasas thrown in to break up the pace, and then more sit-ups and push-ups! I thought I was sweating buckets already and yet more of this liquid kept leaking my body!

When we reached Shavasana at the end of the class, I was exhausted and overcome with this deep feeling of tiredness that I’d never felt before. I felt absolutely drained and that cold face towel they handed out at the end of the class felt like a bright beam of freshness cutting through the throbbing heat.

I was also quite proud of myself for having no chicken wing/squawk incidents (out loud at least) and for keeping everything down — no running to the bathroom this time!

So, did I end up taking up yoga and transforming my life into the calm, poised, strong figure of a yogi that you always envision when you think of yoga?

I tried yoga a few more times on my own and quickly discovered that, without the heat of hot yoga and the dim lighting employed by that specific yoga studio, I’m quite terrible at yoga. Sadly, my Forward Fold (where you touch your toes and fold over) looks the same as my Half Forward Fold (where you keep your back at ~ 90 degrees), and I’m about a mile away from touching my toes in both poses. Due to my inflexibility, I have regularly seen yoga teachers look at me with confused looks. I visibly look like I’m trying to pull off a complicated Houdini-like contortion rather than Lotus Pose or Dolphin Pose. The more determined teachers will try to rearrange me so I can “settle” in the pose, and I have to tell them, “Sorry I just can’t …”

The third time was not a charm.

Alas, alas, and so the life of a couch potato continues to beckon. Where a chicken wing is something to be appreciated, food is successfully kept down, and my body is free from contortions.