Both Jen and I signed up for a gym, since now that I’m a full-time employee with a degree of sustainable income. This development makes me happy, because I have always enjoyed going to the gym when I used to go, and over the span of the last four years of not having a gym to go to, I have grown unsatisfied with the degradation of my physical conditioning. Needless to say, I look forward to the anticipation of improved physical conditioning, the revitalization of muscles that I’ve felt have shrunk a little bit, and the day I realize that pants feel looser around the waist.
As of now, I’ve gone twice, and personally I feel great. It felt good to be in a gym where I can get back to my old routine of running on a treadmill as well as mixing up a combination of free and machine weights. I don’t feel tremendously sore like the first time ever at the gym, which means I’m not in too terribly bad shape, which I suppose is a good thing. I look forward to ironing out a routine and adhering to it in coming weeks and months.
But man, I have to say, the meatheads. Yeah, I know, no gym is without them, but this particular one is, well, wow. I sort of knew it would be like this, considering it’s a gym right in the middle of Atlanta, but I’m still a little astonished, having seen it for myself in person now. It’s amazing just how much posing and fake working out goes on in this place; it’s equally parts amusing, entertaining, creepy and sad.