Reasons I hate the gym 12th March 2015
On the off chance that I’m feeling motivated, I might go to the gym for an hour or so. I walk in, zero make-up, hair scraped back into a greasy ponytail (what’s the point in showering before, right?) and I’ve even dedicated myself so much that I’ve put on a sports bra – not that it’s that necessary with my little fried eggs. As soon as I walk in, excited to feel ‘refreshed’ and ‘happy’ and everything that Women’s Health promised me, I realise that I’m a fucking bellend. Every time I go I’m reminded of the exact reason of why I don’t bother. Aside from the fact that it takes me hours to drag myself away from my bed – we’re very committed – something about the gym turns people into absolute cretins. I run, lift, press and squat and every single time I want to be sick … or die.
Calling all girls who wear a full face of make-up to workout; are you alright? Seriously, in what world did you think that was a good idea? If you work your arse off like you’re meant to in the gym, you’ll sweat so much you’ll be crying mascara as one false eyelash falls off with your extensions sticking amongst your stripy foundation lines. More to the point, if you leave the gym with your blinding red lipstick and clashing pink blusher still perfectly intact, you haven’t worked hard enough. Get back in there or cancel your membership, you don’t look hot, you look like a twat.
Gym Heads. Okay, you workout, yes everyday, we get it. You know what else? We really, really, reaaaaaally don’t care. Like there are no fucks given. You can workout until your hearts content, but is tweeting a photo of every machine, and instagramming mirror selfies of your ‘progress’ that necessary?
Fitness Freak. Yep, you’ve probably guessed this one’s only because I’m jealous…
When you walk past me in your tight Nike leggings and tiny crop top (while I’m chilling in a tracksuit from Tesco’s), displaying your tanned, non-blotchy skin and 6-pack stomach (not a Paolo in sight) and your naturally-highlighted long locks falling gracefully against your flawless, zit-free skin – I really begin to question why I’ve even go out of bed, let alone left the house. Could you make an effort to look a little less perfect?
Over-excited Girl. Okaaaaay, so I don’t know if this has only happened in the gym that I go to (I’m so dedicated, my membership card is totally still completely intact and not rotting somewhere) but it’s one of those situations where you just don’t know where to look. There’s me, glacially cycling, staring at the calorie loss number wondering why it’s changing so slowly. (Maybe it’s broken? I should just double whatever it says). Over-excited girl is a couple of bikes away from me and enjoying the workout just a little too much. I mean, I know exercise releases endorphins but she’s either gagging for a shag or just wants everyone to know the great time she’s having. Ear plugs anyone?
The posers. Is it not possible for you to go to the gym without taking a photo and captioning it “about to get all sweaty! Serious workout today”? Obviously not … You should try staying away from the mirrors too, checking yourself out less will make a real difference.
Time. I swear, from the moment I walk into the gym time changes and theres like, a million seconds per minute. I’m on the treadmill, kicking my heels up, feeling like a pro, this is easy – why was I always complaining? Maybe I should apply to do a marath- … wait, WHAT?! It’s only been 2 minutes … oh my god I’m dying. And yet I seem to be able to stuff my face with pizza in less than 30 seconds, weird.
Nothing’s changed. I run, I lift, I push, I pull, I squat and crunch until I’m ready to voluntarily jump into a bath of ice and enjoy it. That was a good session, I’ve definitely made a difference today. Oh no wait … there’s the same lumpy, bumpy reflection in the mirror, just a bit more sweaty and a bright red face. WHERE IS MY SIX PACK?
Green tea please, with a dash of lemon? (Give me hot chocolate with marshmallows and sprinkles before I die) 4th March 2015
The biggest bane in my life. I want so much to be fit and healthy. I have this fabulous idea that I’ll be one of those girls that drinks green tea and snacks on blueberry’s after going for her daily run and splurges her monthly income at places like ‘Sweaty Betty’ and actually get’s excited to exercise. And that all sounds so bloody fantastic. There’s just one tiny problem, no it’s basically minute and I could totally still be super fit and everyone will look at me like “omg give me her figure now” with loads of those smiley face emojis with love hearts instead of eyes …
Now, I know that I’m not fat. I’m 5.4 (hahahah yes, feel free to laugh at my lack of height but please understand the difficulty I have at seeing out of a high window) and a size 8. I’m not skinny, I’m not fat. I’m in the middle. But I’m not toned, in the slightest and when I run you can see my pizza shaped belly jiggling; so not the sight I wanted that giant, fit, glowing-with-sweat, goes-to-the-gym-everyday guy on the treadmill next to me to see. But was that Dominos worth it? Hell yes.
I’ve also got the ‘fat-friend’ syndrome … like I said I’m not big, but in my group of girls, I am the biggest. One’s got an arse like Beyonce and a waist the size of my wrist, ones got pins to die for and the others petit with a gymnasts figure – HOW IS THAT FAIR? I was blessed with the trait that as soon as I eat a grain of a carb, a food baby appears at the bottom of my stomach – I like to call him Paolo – yay me.
It’s just so. much. effort. And there’s that whole thing “it’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle” … er helllo?! I don’t want to feel guilty every time I touch chocolate or go for a Nandos. Please, in what world am I going to sit an order a salad and water whilst everyone else orders steaks and cheesecake? I will never be that girl. And there’s the cost. I’m a student, I can’t afford £50 a month for the gym; I’ve got vodka, heels and countless dresses to be ordering that I absolutely can’t afford but would definitely rather buy than go running.
I admire the people that never eat a single unhealthy product and work out like nuts every day – I mean Victoria Beckham looks like she does because she works for it! But then there’s other people. The lucky ones. The ones who Instagram their plates of massive burgers and huge portion of salty chips (excuse me, you can probably hear my stomach rumbling) allllll the time and are still tiny! That’s always baffled me. I’m not skinny because I eat burgers and cake. These people eat an entire cake, scoop up all the icing, have a plate of pasta for dinner and then finish of the saucepan and don’t put ANY weight on. I don’t want a scientific explantation. I want a magic pill that will make that happen for me – fairy godmother, please?
I’d love to be one of those girls but unless I have the will-power to cut out every unnatural, carb-infested, sugar-loving, fat-inducing, chocolatey, large-glass-of-wine deliciousness I enjoy, it’s not gonna happen. I’d love to be one of those girls, but I’m not. I go to the gym 3 times a week, I’ll eat healthy foods and won’t snack, but if I want some chocolate or a roast dinner? I’m never going to deprive myself. Think about it … if I’m eating a daily greasy fry up and you’re not, who’s the real winner here?
Pinot and Galaxy would go down a treat right about now … I’ll go to the gym tomorrow.