Happily, there are no situps in my routine... yet

My bank account is HURTING. Why? I’m shelling out over $750 for ten personal training sessions. I think it’s the single most amount of money I have spent on anything that wasn’t a computer.

But, after going to my two complimentary sessions, I realized that I really need guidance from a fitness professional in order to have a hope’s chance in hell of going to the gym on a regular basis, and actually getting a good workout. Namely because I couldn’t remember a damn thing from my first two sessions. And because it turns out I really like my trainer. She is patient, and doesn’t treat me like a fat, out of shape loser. Win/win.

And I am pleased to report that it is not that bad! I’m going at least once a week (schedule permitting), have lost a few inches in important places, and have even come to terms with some nudity in the changing rooms. Other people’s mostly… not mine XD Observations:

Jesus Christ, gym towels are small.

Towel service comes with my membership, but once again my Tall Curse strikes. Nothing more awkward than walking to the shower knowing your ass and vajayjay are hanging out. TALL FAT CHICKS + GYM TOWELS = ACCIDENTAL NEKKID.

I hate planks.

No, really. I hate them.

Intervals are amazing

You know what’s boring? Running on a treadmill for forty minutes. But my trainer is a fan of interval training, wherein you do small bursts of cardio over small periods of time. So instead of running on a treadmill for 8 million years, I’m doing 15-30 second intervals (at high speed/incline) with breaks inbetween. Studies say this is actually the best idea for burning fat, and I am totally on board.

No Boys Allowed

Nothing’s worse than feeling self-conscious when you’re sweating your ass off (literally) and your jiggly bits are showing. Well, no need for this at Healthworks. It’s relatively gym-rat free and there’s something really freeing about not having any men around.

The whirlpool scares me

I’m lame. So. Much. Naked. I also can’t figure out how to turn it on, when it’s not already on.

I think I like the gym… huh. I’ve got four more personal training sessions before my schedule becomes psychotic, and hope to do some group training sessions in the fall (for the sake of my bank account). Exciting!

Yep. I joined a gym. I'm THAT guy.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a “gym person.” Ok, they know this largely because I say it a lot — it’s a perennial favorite among my excuses regarding weight loss. Another favorite? “I can’t afford the gym.”  Last Sunday, in a blindingly bright moment of possible temporary insanity, I decided I was going to join Healthworks. So I did the next day. Let’s not call it an impulsive decision, but rather the results of over five years of consideration.

For those who aren’t native to Boston, Healthworks is a brilliant local innovation: an all-women gym that is bright, friendly and lacking the social pressure that is pretty repugnant at other gyms. Girls of all types go there, and most importantly — the gym rats don’t. I’ve silently been tempted by Healthworks, having lived across the street from it for two years in college, but my thriftyness always got in the way. Then I received a bonus that, I realized, would pretty much pay for a year of the gym. Excuses exhausted and feeling sick of dieting alone no longer cutting it, I bit the bullet.

For signing up, I received two complementary personal training sessions, the first of which was this past Saturday. Um, HOLY MOLY I ACHE. Talk about being out of shape! I also learned that, apparently, my body fat percentage means I’m over weight, and my hip inches are EMBARRASSING. I’ve also lost four pounds in two weeks. Win. Anyway, my bone to pick with body fat percentages and BMI I will save for another post (I am NOT obese, JFC), but here are the highlights from the gym, so far.

Locker rooms: playing (naked) chicken

What is with women whipping off their clothes in the middle of the locker room? Call me a prude, but you will not see me taking off my bra or underwear in a locker room, and stand around with the “puppies” or my vajayjay hanging out. NO. Healthworks provides little changing rooms (like 2 or 3 out of the whole space), which are really dark little closets, which remain teasingly empty. Why? Because no one has the balls to use them. There is this feeling in the air, this tension of “who is the wuss who is going to change in the closet”? If I need to change my underwear or bra? ME.

Aren’t you supposed to wear a bathing suit in there?

Continuing on the naked theme, JESUS CHRIST THERE ARE NAKED PEOPLE IN THE WHIRLPOOL. Seriously. Stark naked women sitting in the whirlpool. Boobs are floating, and it is AWKWARD. Isn’t that unsanitary or something? I just… no. I will be wearing a BATHING SUIT in the whirlpool, and god help me if I am joined by a middle aged (or any aged) naked chick. Just. No.

The elliptical machine is evil

No, really, it is. I think it was trying to kill me.

Do they really expect me to use those sensors?

Who holds the hand bars at the front of the treadmill? You can’t walk at a decent pace, let alone jog or run, and hold on to the heart rate monitors, as it bids you to. And if you’re anything over 5 foot 8, you have to STOOP to hold them. Really? The bikes are a bit better, but it’s like they WANT you to have to buy your own heart rate monitors. Which I just did. For $82. Which leads me to…

Gym shit is EXPENSIVE

$100 on gym clothes, check. $20 sports bra, check. $82 for heart rate monitor that will sync with the gym machines, PAINFUL check. $65 bathing suit (Speedo), check. $81 a month for the gym, CHECK DAMMIT. $70-$1000 plus, OMFG SRSLY?

And these are the observations of my first week of physical fitness. I’m sure the gym will provide many lulz going forward, should I survive my second personal training session.