Procrastination we all do it; some to a more satisfactory level than others. And recently I think I mastered the art.
It all started when posed with the question of whether I wanted to join my flatmates on their gym session or study.
For anyone reading this who doesn’t know me, I have a very strong disdain towards gyms. My first time encounter of their presence was immersed in the excruciating feeling of awkwardness. The room stank of sweat, the air felt damp and the white walled abyss created an atmosphere of hatred.
Running on a treadmill bored me. I was going nowhere. Staring at the same white wall filled me with a feeling of nonchalance. All the people around me took exercise way above my severity level and the looming judgement was enough to put me off for life.
But despite all this, I decided to brace myself for the horror that was coming.
Walking in to the gym I felt fine. I sauntered up to the treadmill like I owed the thing; confident and reassured that this session will be the day everything turns around. The day I will look back to as the epiphany to exercise – how I was wrong.
I fumbled with my iPod for 5 minutes before starting my exercise, hands sweaty I couldn’t have felt more out of place. With people running around me, I decided to keep things easy and stress-free so I pressed the option to hike.
I was 10 minutes in when the anxiety started. The awareness of walking on a treadmill. What was I doing?! The same thought repeating over and over: ‘you do know you can walk on a street right?’ I started to question my choice of exercise. While everyone around me ran, I continued to brisk walk my way around the Grand Canyon internally shouting at myself for such a stupid life choice.
An hour and a half later and my “workout” ended. Yes I felt better, those endorphins had been released and I had survived. But so too had my prevailing opinion of gyms.
Never again I thought, but again I was wrong.