I finally joined the gym yesterday. The West End YMCA to be exact. In addition, I'm 14 days sober. I've also been for two jogs in the last week. And I ate steamed vegetables for dinner. I'm slowly piecing my way back to something that resembles fitness.
The sign-up process was relatively unscathing. Well except for the part where I think I was being chatted up by one of the guys behind the desk, and the part where they took my photo for my membership card on a webcam and I turned out looking like a distorted, douche-bag version of myself.
The more scathing part came when I decided to give myself a self-guided tour of the gym and its facilities. I thought a good place to start would be the women's locker room. I've never seen such an abundance of tits and box in my life. I was trying to orient myself in the room but I came face to face with genitalia at every turn. And then there were those moments that were made even more awkward when I made eye contact with women as they stood there naked. I don't think I've ever felt quite so overdressed in my whole life as I did in those few minutes.
So why put yourself through all of this uncomfortableness, did I hear you ask? Well there is in fact a very good reason. On Father's Day I plan to participate in the five kilometre 'Prostate Cancer Canada' run, in honour of my dad who is battling the disease as we speak. I'm sure he'll appreciate the horrific nature of the scenes I'm having to endure in order to support him and the cause.
If nothing else, I think my gym experience has given me added incentive to get fit. Hopefully in time I can liberate my muff enough to walk around starkers in the change rooms too.
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