The Gym Shame/Guilt Cycle

Doug and I joined a gym last year. We were quite pleased with ourselves and I immediately had visions of becoming all muscular, but not the kind of gross muscular that you see in ladies’ muscle magazines that make you want to tear out your eyes and find that thing they used in Men in Black so you can erase your memory. I’m talking like toned and strong so that next time we move I can say, “I am strong and therefore can lift any box with no peril to myself!” Also, then my mom could stop calling me a weenie.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

We started off strong (no pun intended) and went a few times a week. They even offered “medals” online for things like bringing a friend and going 100 times in 6 months, and probably even for shamelessly promoting them at little league games and PTA meetings. (I never did that.) You could then exchange the medals for free stuff. Doug was all about that, and I was too until I realized going 100 times in 6 months was like four times a week and that is a lot of gym.

I must interject here to tell you something quite important about myself that will give you some perspective: I am lazy. I have been lazy my whole life. I hate cleaning, physical exertion, responsibility, and really just getting off the couch. Comfort is paramount in my life. I don’t really know why I thought joining a gym would enable me to overcome this lifelong struggle with procrastination and rebelling against anything resembling work.

Anyway, I quickly noticed a pattern developing. About the gym, I mean - I've been aware of my laziness for quite some time. Doug has been somewhat more resistant to this pattern, but it has consumed me utterly.

Phase I: Honeymoon

In the Honeymoon phase, I was excited and all for going to the gym. I tried out all the machines, had some sessions with a Personal Trainer, and generally set about getting in shape. I was amazing.







Phase II: Disenchantment

In the second phase the newness has worn off. Oh, I would still go about once a week, but I would find myself making excuses the rest of the time. For example:

“I can’t go – I have too much studying to do.” (Which I would then blow off for something more exciting.)

“It’s too early. I want to sleep in.”

“But I’m right in the middle of this anime marathon! I’ve only been watching for 18 hours – I can’t stop now!”

And failing all else, my standby: “I don’t wanna.”



Phase III: Fallout and Shame

This is the period where both of us would decide we were too busy to be bothered with things like physical health and toned-ness. Usually it would involve studying, working, visiting relatives, or just general burnout from life as a student. We would spend our free time contemplating the wonder that is our television and the computer that Doug converted to a DVR. Our house would be filled with pizza boxes, ice cream containers, and defeat. The shame would begin to consume us.



Phase IV: Rejuvenation

After about a month’s worth of slovenly behavior, the shame would drive us back to the gym. Actually, Doug would drive us there, but you know what I mean. My wise husband would decide to start slowly back into the gym routine by doing some minor stretching and cardio on our first day back from our hiatus. I, however, am awesome and so would decide to do everything I could with heavier weights and greater intensity.



This inevitably would end with Doug supporting me to the car followed by a three-hour nap and lots and lots of Tylenol. The next day I would just lay groaning from the punishment I had inflicted on my poor unsuspecting muscles.


Phase V: Recuperation

Since my body couldn’t possibly take any more beating, I obviously would need at least a week to recover. Usually I would be disenchanted once again so it would be more like two weeks full of ice cream and excuses before the next phase would set in.



Phase VI: Guilt

This is where I live, folks: in an endless cycle of guilt with a dose of shame thrown in for good measure. It keeps me going to the gym about once a week (twice if I feel really guilty). Doug reminds me that it’s good for me and we’re paying for the membership (conscience is one of his many roles). So I drag my ass to the gym out of guilt in the hope of appeasing my husband-conscience and, to some degree, my own as well. But there is no excitement anymore – just a renewed hatred and aversion to all things resembling work. And cardio is definitely work.



I would like to add a note here that my drawings were inspired by the blog Hyperbole and a Half. Check it out for lots of entertainment. However, the drawings appearing in this blog are all lovingly created by yours truly. There will be more to come.