For 32 years of my life, I never set foot inside a gym other than the times that I was forced to for PE. Even then, I was uncomfortable, felt unwelcome, and generally only went there because it was on my class schedule. From other posts, you know that coaches and I never exactly saw eye to eye. Here I sit, a month after surgery, still unable to return to the gym until cleared by my surgeon. I miss exercise for so many reasons. Apparently, my gym misses me, too!
I got this email, which I’m sure is an automated form letter that gets kicked out to members who haven’t beeped their barcode in a set amount of time. The point is, it has been long enough that my gym has felt it necessary to check in and remind me that I belong. That’s lovely. Imagine if everything in life was like that. “This is your furnace filter. You haven’t changed me in a couple of months. Do you still love me?”
For 32 years, I didn’t need the gym. I didn’t want the gym. I loathed the gym. Now, every day that goes by, I feel like I’m decaying a little bit inside not being able to lift something, push something, or ellipticize. Is that strange? I am not looking forward to how difficult getting back on the ball is going to be. I know that I won’t be able to work as long or as hard as I used to be able to. Fear or not, I’m ready. Let’s just hope I get cleared by the doctor sooner rather than later.