So then I almost joined the gym...

For one brief moment today, I considered entering a gym. Taking the 'newbie' tour. Nodding with feigned interest at the dazzling array of machinery designed to tone various parts of a person's anatomy. Listening with feigned enthusiasm at the idea of one free session with a personal trainer who would pinch my Tuckshop arms, shake her head at my inability to touch my toes, draw in a sharp breath as I stood on the scales. Sidling around so that I didn't catch sight of myself in the mirror.

For one moment.

It's October. I've realised that soon I need to step onto the sands of the south coast's glorious beaches in a swimsuit. A fake tan and a bikini wax are not going to cut it as far as making me beach-babe ready. My 'winter coat' cannot be shed with a simple unbuttoning or a sexy zip. It's going to take work.

For that brief moment, I thought maybe I needed to try the gym again. Back in the day, I was a gym girl. Four times a week. Personal trainer. The lot. But I've got to tell you, I had a lot more time on my hands. I was happy to spend an hour here or there in a fluoro-lit room surrounded by other people's sweat.

Now, not so much.

I thought about what I'd be doing at the gym. Stationary cycle. Treadmill. Weights. I would rather be on my bike, or walking the streets. Strength training is important though, and it's almost enough to get me in the door, pen poised over a contract. But no.

Not today.

Are you a member of a gym? Do you go because you love it or because you have to go?


{image: via Marquette}