There Ain't No Devil, It's Just God When He's Drunk

I've determined that I have bipolar body image issues. Half the time I am quite happy and comfortable in my body, the other half I feel like we are at war, and it just utterly disgusts me. After listening to me moan and berate myself for the past 4 years, my honey finally gently suggested that maybe I should try the gym. Not because I was fat or floppy, but because it would change the way I mentally think about myself.

But here's the thing with gyms: I'm petrified of them. Zonko tried numerous times to get me to go to the gym, and I even went with her on a one day try, but couldn't shake the feeling of oppression and claustrophobia. In fact, I came home and cried.

But after a birthday filled of eating cream filled cake (followed by my friend Alice's cinammon rolls), I was feeling pudgy. And since My Honey goes every Sunday, I figured that I would tag along.

Now, the gym My Honey goes to is a 20 minute walk from the flat, which to some might be considered a warm up, but to others like me, it was a bloody workout in itself. By the time we got there, I already had a raised heart rate and think film on sweat.

I braved the girls changing room all by myself, then went out into the main gym. Alone. My Honey was off doing weights. I found a cross trainer and jumped on. And started pushing buttons. Nothing. Blank screen and everything. I switched to another one. And kinda stood there pretending to undo the knots in my headphone cord while I watched and waited for someone else to ge on one of those bloody contraptions . Finally someone did and I watched how they started it up ( by moving...who'd a thunk?). And then I was off.

I did 20 minutes and burned off 150 calories, and then decieded to switch to the bike. My legs were kinda feeling jellyish, so I said I would only do 50 calories worth of cyling, but then figured I might as well do 100. But the kinda scary thing? The heart reate thingy said I had a bpm of 177. Constant. For both cross trainer and bike. 177 for a half hour solid. Is that bad? I am totally scared of my heart exploding now and shooting out of my chest onto the personal TV in front of me. But I didn't feel like I was dying or that my heart was about to explore, or that I had any breathing trouble whatsoever.

And then it was go home time. The gym closes at 5:30, and someone who isn't me likes to sleep in on the weekends until 2 or 3. Meaning by the time he's dressed and fed, it's 4 and we don't actually get out of the house until quarter past.

Apparently I didn't work out enough because I awoke this morning expecting to feel super sore. But the only thing sore was my ass from sitting on the bike- and I mean, my ass is really hurting...not the ass muscle, but whatever the hell part of it that sits on a bike seat.

So I survived. And am thinking of trying to boost it up to 2 days a week.

Oh, and including the trek back to the flat? Total of 435 calories burned, baby. That''s like a quarter of a slice of cake. Good think I ate 3 slices.