I have a Saturday morning dilemma. I woke up earlier than I wanted, but as expected. My internal clock won’t let me sleep past 7. Should I go to the gym or read a book, I wonder? It’s between need and desire, I guess. Or (extremely) boring and fun.
I wish I found going to the gym a lot more exciting. They should serve breakfast there, or something; then, perhaps, it would be a lot more enticing. They could have the female staff walk up to whatever machine I was working and tell me how fit I have become since I started (that morning), and I how good I’m looking working out, and that if I was just 15 years younger they’d go out with me. I’d know they were lying, of course, but it’d be so much more fun going there.
Instead they have a bored looking 30 year old guy at the reception nodding at me when I come in through the door. Inside the gym there are men and women well into their 60s, pressing at least 3 times the weights that I manage. I’m not joking: on some machines I have to opt to lift only the handle, no weights attached, and I can barely manage. On my way back to the locker room I have to pass a room with guys who are pressing the weight of iron equivalent to what it takes to build a small car. The walk home is really the best thing about going to the gym.
And now I’m hungry. I cannot think of working out when I’m hungry. What was I thinking?! I’ll have breakfast. A nice cup of tea and a sandwich. And then I’m going to the gym. Maybe. Or have a nice warm bath where I’ll read about people going to the gym. Close enough.