So I joined a gym.
I swear off the gym like other people swear off drinking and partying:
“Ugh, I’m all sweaty! I can’t believe how much money this is costing me! I’m NEVER gymming again.”
But, like all good resolutions, I fell into the trap again. (“I know I said never again, but I haven’t done any exercise since winter started a bajillion months ago and this time it’ll be different!”)
So with the help of a gym buddy (Lindsey) and inspired by finding a gym with incredibly low single-session rates, we put our ‘inside exercise shoes’ on (yes, that’s a thing) and headed along to the prefectural gym!
It was closed for renovations.
A few weeks later we tried again, and made it as far as the gym itself before we realised that we only knew how to use the treadmill and exercycle and we both got really bored really quickly.
Since standing around looking at all the heavy, complicated equipment wasn’t going to get us very far, we made the executive decision to take a weekly class instead.
Obviously anything with the word ‘intense’ in the description was out, anything on a weekend was unlikely and Lindsey vetoed yoga, so we were left with Monday evening aerobics classes.
We signed up, paid our fee, and felt very proud of ourselves until the day of the first class.
Lindsey speaks very good Japanese, so she was okay, but it hadn’t occurred to me until the music actually started that I would have the double whammy of not understanding and having all the coordination skills of inebriated jelly.
Thus began two months of weekly hilarity (for the instructor), and confusion and tripping up (for me).
That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy it immensely; the instructor was a very camp and cheerful guy, the other participants were lovely women (including a mother of one of my students), and by the end I had a vague grasp of what was going on.
Plus, apparently exercise is good for you.
But, like all good falls from the wagon, my gymming needed an intervention. That came in the form of summer vacation and a visit from my siblings.
So it’s back onto the wagon for me, though my membership card is still in my wallet, ever threatening to tempt me back to the dark side.