As someone who is a frequent flyer at the gym, I consider it one of my favorite places. Nothing comforts me like squeaky treadmills, dropping weights and sweaty benches. No, really.
The art of gyming is one that continues to be sacred to many. Whether it be machines, free weights, resistance bands or even pilates. The gym itself is a special place. Lines upon lines of treadmills and ellipticals gleam under the terrible lighting that washes everyone- and I mean everyone- out.
The feeling of buying new activewear is second to nothing and nothing pumps me up more than a new pair of Nikes. Working out is empowering, and I can understand 100 percent why it is a popular resolution year after year. It gives me confidence and hope. Being able to run up the three flights of stairs in the main stairwell without breaking a sweat gives me more happiness than a college acceptance letter. That’s why the gym is so sacred. There’s no judgement, and everyone is pushing you to be better, even with something as small as a smile.
So forgive me for rolling my eyes at the sight of picture after picture on Instagram of people posing in front of a mirror at the gym with some quirky caption underneath. New year’s resolutions bring dumbbells of all shapes and sizes to the gym.
More than anyone, I know the struggle of finding motivation and a “New Year, New Me,” mentality has surely helped me get through more than a few workouts. I admire anyone who gets their butt out of bed and puts themselves out there, willing to be uncomfortable just to better themselves. Any workout is better than the workout that didn’t happen.
I’ll push through waiting for a machine for 30 minutes if it means someone else gets to really use it. But when people sit at the bench for 30 minutes on their phone, I can’t stop myself from being bitter about it. We all know you’re just sitting there to tell check in on Facebook and take a snap of the 50 pound dumbbells.
As parking lots begin to empty by the end of January and the machines become available within minutes, the committed people start to really show their faces. Anyone who survives the new year’s rush is officially allowed to call themselves a gym rat. Most of all, it’s comforting to know that by March, I’ll be in and out of the gym in two hours max.