The healthiest guy in the room

I’d totally fallen off my running routine over the past month and a half. I think it’s partly due to the “unemployed” mindset. When you’re not in a traditionally active schedule, it becomes easier to blow things off. Maybe depression has something to do with that, too. Crap. In any event, I’m back in the proverbial groove.

Inclement weather had been one very convenient excuse over the past couple of weeks–it had been just way too damn cold to even consider throwing on the sweats and Sauconys for a 3-4 mile sidewalk cruise. After sitting myself down for a “come to Jesus” meeting about the “lack of exercise to pizza consumed” ratio I’d been enjoying through much of November, I devised a solution. The answer? Get to a gym, or in the words of Homer Simpson, a “guy-m.”

The problem with gyms, and what’s kept me out of them for–well, forever, is the people who go to gyms. I have zero interest in going somewhere largely populated by twenty-somethings who are desperate to be seen. And it goes without saying that each and every one of those twenty-somethings would be in humiliatingly better shape than me.

As of a few days ago, I started running at a Park District track. The great thing about it is that the only other people who use it are the elderly and recovering-from-traumatic-surgery set. When I walk into that gym, I’m the fittest guy on two legs (it should be noted that there are people there with only one leg). Sure, no one’s running; they’re all walking, every one of them–almost functioning as speedbumps–but I don’t feel self-conscious at all. No worrying about looking like a heaving slob in front of the DePaul cheerleading squad or looking like the aforementioned Homer Simpson in front of the Lakeview Weight Training Club. In this gym and this gym alone, I am the Rock, Schwarzenegger, and Brad Motherfucking Pitt all in one.

I couldn’t do a pull-up if there was a gun aimed at my balls. The thought of doing sit-ups makes my stomach hurt in advance. People who say “No pain, no gain” are those whom I avoid any interpersonal contact with. But at this gym, none of those things matter. Here, I am the Presidential Fitness Award-winning king of the world.

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