My Grand Return to the Gym

As I was walking past the bathroom this past Saturday, I happened to glance at the mirror and caught a glimpse of myself. Not one of those careful examinations where I could use a cleverly crafted combination of denial and angles to convince myself that I *hadn't* picked up weight; you know, telling yourself  "Wow, it's this shirt that's making me look like I swallowed a beached orca."

No, I mean a quick, passing glance. The kind of view point a stranger would have of you if he or she were strolling past you on the street. In that split second, I caught a look at how I must appear  to other people; how I must look to myself before my ego rushes out of hiding with amazing alacrity to pull the wool over my eyes with sweet, reassuring lies.

I've picked up weight. Fuck.

I'm not fat, or morbidly obese. But I have picked up more weight than I'm comfortable with. Once I caught that brief glance, my eyes opened. My face is a little pudgier than before. When I turn, I can see my belly swelling into view; it has clearly become complacent and decided to stop being subtle about it's residence over my abs. Before, it was like the curvature of the Earth; it was there, but it had the decency to HIDE ITS FUCKING PRESENCE. But now it seems the bastard has said, "fuck subtlety, I'm here, bitches."

Today is July 9th. According to my exercise journal, the last time I visited the gym before today was May 14th. That's almost two whole months of me sitting around, being a lump of inert meat. Thinking back, I'm certain I had my reasons for this; there was the stress of working a part time minimum wage job, of being 30 years of age and stuck living with family rather than on my own, and school.

Surprisingly, school is the worse offender.

If I recall, the strain of frantically studying a jumble of math equations had something to do with my hiatus from the gym. I was so worried about passing that class; when I wasn't at working or commuting to class, I was studying. I guess it would be easy for anyone to slack off a bit here and there; that hour I planned on  repetitiously lifting heavy objects was sacrificed so that I could bleed from my eyes staring at math formula.

And of course, even after the quarter ended and I had all of this free time, I still sat around like a lump. And I paid for it; now here it is two months later, and I've gained 10 pounds.

Time to kick my complacency in the balls. I dragged my lazy self to the gym right after work, a mixture of shame and disgust stealing the spring from my steps. Now begins the long, slow climb back to getting in shape. 

BUT, having turned over a new leaf, I'm not going to be cynical about it. I'm not going to go through that mind state of loathing my body, of comparing it to everyone else, and of wishing it would all just magically get better. Nope, I've decided to embrace a positive state of mind. 

Instead, I'll look at my body as a work of art in progress. Being the awesome individual that I am, I deserve to have an awesome body as well. 

Now to make it so.