Tales from the Gym: Paying for my own torture

I knew there was something wrong with me when I realized I was at the gym on a Saturday morning.
As I have written in the past, you would not look at me and think of me as an athletic person — and you would be right.
However, I recently had two realizations concerning my life. One: I needed to work out because, although I saw a fairly normal looking person in the mirror, to others, I appeared to be the second “pregnant man.”
The other realization was, although I have gone to the gym on my own before, it was too rare a thing to make any difference. I have mentioned before that my friends run the Burleson Athletic Club and have given me tips on how to lose some weight.
One of those suggestions was to cut back on the amount of soda I drank on a daily basis. That was hard because I was up to around 10 a day. However, I cut back and I immediately shed around 10 pounds. Now, all I needed to do was go to the gym and walk and lift some weights.
Walk. It seems simple enough, but when you are carrying as much weight as I do on a regular basis, it can be a bit of a hassle. I did a fairly good job of regularly attending the gym for a few months, but then fell back into the though of “why go walking when I can sit?”
That is when I decided to do something about my revelations. I called my friend and set up a time to have a training session at the gym. I figured I would go, learn some new things, and — after a few sessions — walk out with washboard abs and a career in male modeling.
How silly I was.
As I said, I’m not an athletic guy so I didn’t know things like you should eat or drink something before you go have a vigorous workout. Therefore, about 15 minutes into my first session, I began to question my decision-making skills.
Not only had I volunteered to put my body through this, but I was paying for it. I also decided this was a good time to get right with God because at the rate the workout was going, I would be seeing him very soon.
Luckily, however, my friend has the experience to recognize when my face matches my white shirt, it is time to lie down and end the session.
For the next few days, I walked like a fat penguin who had been beaten with baseball bats. People that saw me thought I had been in a car accident or in a vicious beating. It hurt to sit, stand, walk and think. Luckily, thinking has never been my strong suit, so that relieved me of some pain.
The craziest thing, however, is that I went back. Two days later, I went back to the place that hurt me and allowed it to hurt me more. I did it because I needed too — and I already had the check written out for two sessions.
I am happy to have friends who are willing to kick me in the rear and work me until I hurt because they know I need to be healthier. I don’t need to be told that I look fine and I don’t breath that heavily. I need to be healthy.
I have made the decision in my mind to stop justifying the things I’m doing as enough and decided what I can do to go further.
That is how I knew something was wrong with me when I realized I was at the gym on a Saturday morning, but I was happy to be there.

Luke Harris is the editor of the Burleson Star. He thinks he could probably currently make it as a plus-sized male model, but is too modest to go into a career like that. He can be reached at burlesonstar@thestargroup.com.