I Hate the Exercise Room

Feeling guilty is something of a hobby of mine. Some people knit. Some people join book clubs. I obsess about my shortcomings, real or perceived.

Perhaps I should address the largest Guilt Trigger at present – the one that lives beneath my condo and calls to me silently and ceaselessly like my very own Telltale Heart.

On the first floor of my condo building is an Exercise Room. Back when I was looking at condos and evaluating options, this seemed an undeniable perk to this particular location. I’d never miss a workout again!

Now, knowing it’s there makes me mental. I have absolutely no excuse to skip a workout.

No. Excuse.

Even though I belong to a gym and am a somewhat diligent attendee, my mind cannot let go of the idea that I should be a regular fixture of that damn Exercise Room. Every attempt at relaxation is another missed opportunity to log a few more miles on the treadmill.

It’s right downstairs. In my building. I don’t even have to go outside to get there.

Yet I rarely go, and my lack of attendance gives me something else to feel guilty about. StairMasters are notoriously evil, and I’m particularly easy prey.

I could tell you about all of the positive health things I do. Tell you about all the spinach and egg-white omelettes I eat, tally up all my trips to the “real gym” and recount what I do with my time there. To do so, however, would be to give in to the Exercise Room and its evil ability to make me feel like I have to account for my actions.

It’s not that I hate to workout. Promise. I just hate knowing I have no good reason not to be doing so every single day of the week. Why rest when I could be doing toning my abs? Why sit idle when I’m not at my goal weight? (Speaking of which, is anyone ever?).

Whenever I avoid a visit to the Exercise Room, I spend a lot of time exercising my guilt.