Gym Euphoria

You want to hear something true and only semi-related to the rest of this post? I have never, ever, regretted going to the gym. Not once have I walked out the gym doors after a workout and thought to myself, “Well, that was a waist of time.” (For the record, I always feel this way after eating ice cream, sitting on the Internet for too long or after paying to watch Pirates of the Caribbean 3 a few months ago.)

I like going to the gym. I especially like enduring the sweat and smells at night - late at night - when very few 24-hour fitness patrons are visible. I feel like I have the place to myself. The pool is calm. There are fewer people around to see how little I can actually bench press. And I can hop on the stair climber without waiting in line. It’s like an after hours party at Disney World. But the real benefit about coordinating my workout with Conan’s opening monologue is that I see more obese people at night. And for a variety of reasons, this always gives me pleasure in a classic bittersweet sort of way. Bitter because you don’t see these people during busy hours. I assume at least some come at night to fight off insecurities and stares. But sweet in that there is something inspiring about seeing a middle age fat guy running his ass off on a treadmill.

I admire these people who have somehow managed over the years to get in over their head. I admire the way they run and lift and sweat. And I’m glad they come at night.