The Vegas Voice 1-21

Gymophobia
By: Susan Goldfein / Susan’s Unfiltered Wit
It’s a New Year and I should resolve to do more
exercise. But I have become a gym-o-phobe.
Even the prospect of donning a sports bra can
wreck my entire day.
This attitude represents a serious change from my former self. There
was a time that physical fitness was an integral part of my schedule.
Three times a week I was the cardio fitness queen, pounding away on
the treadmill and Stairmaster. With the fierceness of a warrior, I fought
against flab, torturing my individual body parts on machinery that
might have been designed by Torquemada for the Spanish Inquisition.
But now, I believe I’m suffering from an acute case of exercise burnout,
destined to become chronic unless I can act to reverse it.
As much as I am repulsed by the sight of a pair of sneakers, I can’t
seem to silence the little voice that urges me to get off my butt once
again. So, heeding the suggestions of well-meaning, more motivated
friends, I have tried the following strategies:
Scare Tactics. My current behavior is hazardous to my health. I’m at
risk for osteoporosis, and cruelty to my cardio-vascular system.
I’m depriving my brain of the super-oxygenating results of the
elliptical machine. Fear of weight gain should be enough to get me
moving.
And it was – until I learned how long I had to spend working up a
sweat to counteract one Oreo cookie. Best to forego the Oreo cookie.
Personal Trainer. If I had an appointment twice a week, I wouldn’t
be able to wriggle out of my commitment. This sounded foolproof, so
I hired a trainer.
Every Tuesday and Thursday at 10 am this lovely, physically fit young
woman came to my house. It was good for a while.
By the third week, I no longer hated the gym. I hated the trainer.
Vary the Routine. Relieve the boredom factor; don’t keep doing the
same old thing. So, I checked the schedule of classes.
Yogalates? Sounds like a Starbucks special. Kick Boxing? Too
aggressive. Zumba? That had potential.
I show up to class and as soon as the Latin beat began, I got the
feeling that everyone but me had been doing this for their entire lives.
I worked up a sweat all right, but it was from the anxiety of feeling like
a klutz.
Luckily, the loud music drowned out the sound of the door closing
after me as I quietly slipped away.
And so, the struggle rages. The angel on one shoulder telling me to
do the right thing, while the devil on the left is saying “Hah!” But 2021
could be the year that good judgement prevails, and I will dust off my
sneakers and at least go for long walks.
Now, where did I hide those Oreo cookies?
Susan Goldfein’s newest book, How to Complain When There’s
Nothing to Complain About, is available at Amazon.com, BN.com,
Read her blog at: www.SusansUnfilteredWit.com. Email Susan:
SusanGoldfein@aol.com.
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