It Started In The Gym

CHAPTER - 2: Curling Up with Doubt

I finally decided to join a gym.

After trying everything on my own and getting nowhere, spending money on a gym membership felt like the commitment I needed.

I had avoided it at first, mostly because of my social anxiety. 

The idea of exercising in front of so many people seemed too nerve-wracking.
I pictured the gym packed with people with perfect bodies, effortlessly lifting weights or running miles without breaking a sweat.

I would surely look like a horse's ass in front of them.

But I had to break free of that fear if I wanted to get somewhere.

Everyone starts from the beginning, Em. Even these people had a first time. I reasoned with myself, clinging to that thought as a lifeline.

And if I were surrounded by people who were bettering themselves, maybe I'd push myself to do the same.

So, I made a deal with myself—I'd stick with it for at least a month before even thinking about quitting.

In truth, I was out of excuses.

This was the last path I hadn't taken. Might as well try it out.

Even though I'm a lazy ass, I know I'm not just going to give up on myself that easily.

The first few days were, to put it mildly, uncomfortable. 

I had no clue where to start, and working out in front of all the gym hunks and queens was beyond embarrassing. 

What's up with all the ultra-fit people taking over the gym? Where are all the normal-looking folks at? It felt like everyone there had just stepped off a fitness magazine cover.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to muster the courage to ask these sculpted demigods for help with the machines. Summoning the nerve to approach them took more effort than I had to put in my exercises. 

But, to my surprise, they were genuinely kind and helpful. They advised me to start slow, using smaller equipment and focusing on short sessions.
I began with light weights and low-intensity exercises. I just had to make sure that I let my body adjust, to learn the basics without overwhelming myself. By the end of the week, I had figured out most of the equipment.

The second week was better. I started to enjoy the workouts, even looking forward to those satisfying, drenched-in-sweat feelings at the end of each session. I could feel some changes as well. I had more energy, more confidence, and dare I say it—my belly might have even shed an inch or two.
As my comfort with the equipment grew, I gradually increased the intensity of the workouts by adding more weights and extending my sessions. 

The progression was slow but steady, and I loved how my body was responding.

But then, as if on cue, the energy began to fade.
By the fourth week, everything slowed to a crawl. My motivation dipped, the workouts became monotonous, and I dreaded going to the gym. I could barely put in any effort in the motions of the exercises.

But I wasn't surprised. This had happened before—the initial excitement would fizzle out, and I would find myself back in the same rut.

But this time, I was determined. I had to push through until the routine became a part of my life, not just a phase.

Every day felt like a battle. I'd stand at the gym door, hesitating, before forcing myself inside. Once I was inside, I would force myself to put in at least some effort if only to avoid the guilt of wasting money.