Like I don’t already feel bad enough about the sheer amount of Quality Street I gorged myself with over Christmas, I can’t seem to move without seeing one of those horrific WeightWatchers/DietChef/Jenny Craig case-study adverts popping up without warning on my TV screens, (you know the ones, where an ex-fatty spends three minutes telling us how she changed her life by paying someone £70 a week to bring her food, and I totally can too. Or, alternatively, I could just not spend £70 on food every week, and lose weight because, well, I’m not eating £70 worth of food a week? )
Anyway, once again, I’ve been guilted into joining the gym – and therefore, not only have I been thrown back into the snake pit of all those people I hate at the gym, but I’ve also been reminded why people actually hate me too.
However, it turns out that I’m not the only one who could be lynched in the changing room at any given moment; so today I’m passing you over to my fabulous friend and all-round sexual lady, Beverley, to walk you through why the gym bunnies hate her too…
I’ve been going to the gym. A lot. Partly because over-eating doesn’t even begin to describe the gorging I did over the Christmas period and partly because, well, there’s this really cute guy…
No the last one is a lie. If there really were any hot guys at my gym then I sure as well wouldn’t be parading around in front of them wearing skin tight clothing 5 nights a week. In reality a lot of the people who go to my gym spend the vast majority of their time there staring at themselves in the humongous Mirror of Vanity which lines the walls next to the weight machines or sitting on the exercise bikes texting their friends instead of actually, y’know, cycling.
The thing is, all that time spent pounding the rubber band of the treadmill has given me a lot of time to think.And when I say think what I really mean is compile a list of reasons as to why nobody at the gym likes me:
I breathe heavily.
Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot that the predominant reason for visiting a gym was to actually do some exercise. Was my heavy breathing putting you off your leisurely stroll on the treadmill?! Stop giving me evil eyes, I’m running goddammit. You’d be breathing heavily if you’d crank it up a notch but instead you’ve mistaken the gym as some kind of alternative to taking your dog for a walk around the local park. Without the dog…of course.
I listen to loud, loud music.
I’m not that person on the train listening to their iPod so loud that you hope and pray that you’re still on the train to witness their head exploding, (that’ll teach you, little shit) but in the gym it’s a completely different story. No tunes, no running. Somehow this interferes with the treadmill walker’s TV time though. Shame.
Urgh, a girl sweating, gross right? Wrong. As far as I’m concerned if you’re not breaking into a sweat at the gym you’re doing something wrong. And by wrong I mean not putting in enough effort. Yes people, I run, I sweat. Get over it and stop giving me dirty looks. If I was wiping it all over you I could see where you’re coming from….but see that’s what the towel is for. Duh.
I wear make up.
You would literally think I’d been going around poking new born kittens in the eyes with pencils the way people go on about girls wearing make up to the gym. But the way I see it, girls who wear make up to the gym fall into two camps.
One: crazy girls who apply a face full of slap especially because they’re going to the gym.
Two: normal girls who rush to the gym after work and are still wearing the mascara they applied in the morning.
I, obviously, fall into the latter category.
And to finish, here’s one thing I hate about other people at the gym…
Some people still insist on wearing normal, everyday clothes to work out in. I mean seriously, get some wicking in your life!! Or at least something that isn’t denim…
When she’s not hatin’ on people in the gym or drinking the best bottle of wine available in the supermarket for $8, Beverley can be found writing about living, working and travelling your way around the world on her travel blog Pack Your Passport, on twitter @PckYourPassport and on Facebook where she promises to never talk about herself in the third person.