I've always had a love/hate relationship with the gym like many others. But I often wonder how many other people sit in their lifted muddy trucks having a panic attack at the thought of going INTO the gym. Normally I'm fine after a while but since it's been almost 3 years since my clodhoppers have crossed the threshold of healthiness and sweat; panic attack came flooding in.
Sitting there holding my phone debating on whether or not to call my husband I watched as people came and went from the Post's gym. The argument was nothing less then the normal cycle of trying to convince myself that I was 1. way too out of shape for the gym 2. I would like an idiot not remembering my settings for the equipment 3. my lack of coordination would make itself known while on the treadmill/elliptical in front of the group of Drill Instructors that just walked in 4. I'd crush myself in one of the contraptions vs. actually making progress.
The idea of calling my husband still loomed over my head but I knew that if I did he'd make some stupid joke about being a pansy and I really didn't want to hear that as he's already on my last nerve lately.
A couple deep breathes, I grabbed my bag, ID, turned the engine off and hopped out. With each step closer to the doors I could feel my heart pick up and the thoughts were racing as I countered each thought with "only you would have a panic attack to work out in public".
Once inside as I stood there in the entrance way to all the machines and weights a odd calming feeling came over me. I felt at home. Like an old friend beckoning me to come in with welcoming arms. Plugged the ear buds in, cranked up Pandora on my phone, and off I went.
What should have been only an hour turned into 2 and as I left I couldn't help but feel a sense of not only accomplishment but longing to get back in there.