I have been finding it difficult to go to the gym on an evening, and am averaging about two trips a week as opposed to the four or five times per week I was visiting last year. Typically, I prefer to blame this on the gym rather than myself. It is a lot more crowded nowadays, and finding a locker and queuing for machines and showers seems too much of a pain in the arse for me to be bothered with at the end of a long working day. This is of course piffle and I am merely creating excuses for my laziness. My brain is stupid. If the gym really was too crowded of an evening, my noggin should have worked out by now that it’s be best to cancel my membership and find a quieter gym. But I never do, because I know my brain is only trying to mislead me.
I am still hopeful of getting back into a healthy shape. This morning was due to be a ‘fresh start’. If I do not want to exercise after work, it is reasonable to assume I could easily get up earlier in the morning instead and head over to the gym before work. On paper, this seems like a great idea. Not only does this sound like a really invigorating way to start the day (making a nice change from the usual bleary-eyed view with which I usually begin work), I am also humouring my stupid brain, which can no longer use the gym busyness factor as a get out clause. The gym is always quiet in the morning, obviously. Let’s face it, what sort of people go to the gym that early in the morning? Freaks and weirdoes, that’s all.
So last night I set my alarm, rather ambitiously, for 6.45am. It has been so long since I’ve actually seen 6.45am, that I was rather dubious as to whether 6.45am still exists. I suppose if someone is never conscious enough to 6.45am, then it sort of is just a loose concept, in the same way that a falling tree needs to be heard in order to make a sound.
Setting my alarm for 6.45am seemed like an excellent idea before I went to bed. Yet when 6.45am arrived, the quality of this idea now became severely compromised. So compromised in fact, that I’d even go as far as to say that the previous ‘excellence’ of the idea had now become completely subverted to become the worst idea that anyone had ever had, ever.
As the alarm chirped me into some form of drowsy submergence of consciousness, my initial reaction was to turn it off immediately, and forget this stupidly foolish idea immediately. Getting up is hard enough at the best of times, but getting up when you’ve still got the option of an extra hour and half in bed is near insanity! Yet somehow (and don’t ask me how), I managed to resist the luring temptation of the duvet. To my great surprise, I suddenly found myself in an upright position, (albeit drowsily) pulling clothes over myself. The next thing knew, my gym bag was slung over my shoulder and I was heading out to my car. I really was doing it!
It is a particularly crappy journey to the gym, through some hell hole Heath Town. It took a lot longer than I expected it to. I was rather surprised to learn that apparently there are quite a lot of people on the roads at 8am. It gave me a new appreciation that I am usually lucky enough to miss the rush-hour. My working day doesn’t start until 10am, so most of the traffic has subsided by the time I usually set out of the house. And even though my intended exercise time would be somewhat compromised, I rather relished the opportunity to hear the ‘Today’ programme and get a rare window into current affairs. Apparently Jacqui Smith’s expenses have paid for pornographic videos.
When I pulled up onto the gym car-park, I had a quick check through my sports bag.
Tracksuit? Check.
Clean underwear? Check.
Shower gel? Check.
Mp3 player? Check.
Water bottle? Check.
Towel?...
TOWEL??
This would be the precise moment when my good mood and sense of motivation and achievement abruptly faded; becoming overwhelmed by an intense irritation. No towel meant no shower, and it would not be an option to do sweaty exercise, then head straight off for a day’s work without having a shower. Similarly, it was no longer worth driving all the way home to fetch a towel and return with it to the gym, because that wouldn’t have left me with hardly any time to exercise. I was truly gutted.
All that was left to do was to turn the car around and head back home. Could this possibly be more infuriating? Oh, the tragedy of it! With the best intent, I had done the hard part; I had managed to get out of bed at some God forsaken hour. And for what purpose? Effectively just to take some grim, prolonged, petrol-wasting journey around the shit-hole of Heath Town.
I was very agitated as I dejectedly drove to work (not the invigorating start to the working week I’d envisaged), but I have calmed down since. This may have something to do with the fatigue from having had such an early start. But I will endeavour to try again tomorrow.
