Saturday, November 07, 2009
Pain And Penance
This morning, I dragged my ever-widening ass to the gym. I don't like gyms. They make me feel like a lab rat running on an exercise wheel. The pumping music, punctuated by the neanderthal grunts and parade ground barks of class instructors (in between their patrons' inane chatter about fat loss ) get on my nerves. I turn up my iPod and tune into the rhythm of constant motion and long steady breaths. As long as I can block everything out, it's like a form of meditation. My shaved head and austere, asexual, dark clothing make me look like a six-foot monk amongst a room of Ken and Barbie dolls. After a couple of hours, the fog and white noise that cloud my mind have cleared. Serotonin levels upped, the anxiety that every morning wakes me with clenched fists and grinding teeth has dissipated. I'm calm, maybe even happy. Ever obsessive-compulsive, I weigh myself, measure my waist and hips, and take note of my heart-rate.I'm already looking forward to fitting the high-priced clothes hanging in my wardrobe again but aesthetic changes aren't my goal. I do this to stay sane, to be productive. Nothing else works as well.