During my regularly unscheduled gym hiatuses, I would always wait until I begin to loathe myself before going back. The thought process often goes something like this:
"Well, I didn't go at all this week, so why start on a Friday?"
Then: "Well, I didn't make it in last week, so why start on a Monday?"
Then: "Well, it's been a few weeks now, nothing will make a bit of difference at this point, so who the hell cares?"
I haven't quite reached the self-loathing phase this time around, so I'm going to go ahead and say that I'm growing as a person.
Still, I was dreading it, the first day back. Luckily, as soon as I stepped out of the locker room, I saw my friend Kevin, so I happily skipped on over to derail his workout and delay my own.
He jokingly asked me if I needed a tour to reacquaint myself. I laughed it off but truthfully wouldn't have minded. After a time away, the gym would always feel slightly foreign to me, even though it is the same today as it was yesterday, as it will be tomorrow and the next day. But one thing does change with time, and with it, how I perceive the gym: people.
It once was a place for me to grapple with the idea of being gay. Even though I already knew I was unequivocally a homosexual the moment I developed a crush on my classmate's older brother in (early) junior high, I had lingering doubts throughout puberty. OK, not doubts so much, but periods of redefinition. I joined my first gym during the summer I was 14 with my aunt, who would take me to her aerobics classes. Like I said, unequivocally. But outside of those classes, I would see men working out, muscular types with bodies I ached for. At the time, I couldn't tell if I wanted those bodies to touch or inhabit.
Of course, I came to the conclusion soon enough that I desired both, and the gym became an opportunity to attain the latter, and as a result, hopefully attain the former. During college, I would often work out next to college-aged men in great shape and there for a more explicit goal. They were the baseball players and wrestlers and swimmers, athletes who lived for fitness outside of the gym, and I quickly became very self-conscious there. It was a place where my scrawniness and natural inclination toward lank were painfully evident.
In more recent years, the gym became a social setting. I heard somebody say once that there is nothing gayer than a gym in the City, and if my experiences are any indication, well, truer words have never been spoken. Five years ago, I met Sam at the water fountain one morning when he was barely more than this hot guy at the gym I somehow managed to get to smile and nod at me every so often. Then I met Steve, a friendly and jovial guy who later would become one of my closest friends. And just like that, I built a circle of friends through Steve, the hub of my social wheel. Many of them were also morning gym-goers, so we inadvertently became a gaggle of gays who showed up every morning to chat and laugh and possibly throw around a weight or two. Sam would grow to despise us all, the "girls" who stood around squawking and disrupting his precious workouts.
Much has changed now. Sam and I deliberately go to separate gyms. Steve is no longer around, and for a long time, it was just me. Now, Kevin and I are fledgling workout buddies, but the emphasis now, at least at the gym, is on 'workout.' It's a good thing; this actually means that I stand a chance at designing the kind of body I've always wanted. The gym has somewhat returned to one of its earlier definitions for me, for better or worse. I do miss the gaggle, though.
All of these thoughts before I even made it to work this morning. I guess there is a lot of time to think when you take five minutes to rest between each set. Still, all-in-all, today was a decent workout. I officially broke a sweat (one), and by the time I walked out, my arms felt noodley and my brain was fully alert. It is a good feeling, one I've missed while I've been away.
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