So I’ve you’ve been keeping up to date with me on Facebook you’ll know that I haven’t ran this week due to severe chaffing problems and a bad cold.
I was almost ready to go to the gym tonight to try to work my way back into it again but the idea of it made me feel utterly miserable.
I’ve decided that I’m leaving it now for good. Here are 10 good reasons on why I fucking hate the gym and the thought of ever going again.
- It is too expensive - I am spending £30 a month on a service that I am not gonna avail of. I’ve beaten myself up before about trying some other exercise other than running and the truth is I just fucking hate the gym. Whenever I see my bank statement and another £30 has disappeared from my account I feel robbed.
- I hate being in the changing room - It reminds me of school and having to change in front of other people. I was a late developer as a kid and didn’t have any hair on my legs until I was about 28. Back then I’d lie and say that the reason my legs were hairless was because I ‘shaved them’ to be ‘more aerodynamic’. This is the root of my issues of others staring at me. More importantly though I’m not comfortable making small talk with other men when they have their genitals hanging out for all to see. They could be talking about something as innocent as their vegetable garden or 19th century economics but no amount of small talk will hide the fact that they have their dick out and it’s flapping around somewhere down there like a shy Springer Spaniel.
- I can’t relate to personal trainers - I have no interest in being screamed at by some cunt with a thick neck. If I wanted that sorta acton, I could get it free in prison. That’s why I hate classes too. I’m not fond of authority figures. Most of them are total pricks. Especially the meat-head jock pricks who will call you ‘gay’ for not bending your body in the right way for them. “No I can’t run any faster Bruno! Fuck off and suck one!”
- The fucking music sucks - cheesy 90′s techno motivates me in that it makes me want to fucking kill everyone. I have no interest in being part of a Richard Simmons wank fantasy. I hate all of the fake positivity and energy and feel-good nonsense that goes with the music and the whole gym scene. Yes. I can hear you ask “Why don’t you just bring your own music and earphones you angry prick?” – I can listen to my own music in my house with my feet up. It’s easier and much more fun.
- I hate gym talk - Every time I hear someone bandying about the words ‘cardio’, ‘reps’, ‘planks’ or ‘protein shake’ I want to fucking strangle them with my towel.
- Treadmill farting (again) - I don’t shit where I eat – I can memorise the faces of every person I’ve farted next to in that fucking gym and I see them in there every time without fail. I can see the accusations in their eyes that says ‘there’s that smelly bastard again who farts nonstop! He must have faulty bowels!’. It’s the same stare I get from outraged fat girls at the bar that I’ve wasted drunken ‘Wow you’re a big one! I think I love you’s’ on.
- I always need to shit when I’m in there too and I feel uncomfortable about it - I can never seem to relieve myself when others are around.. Whenever I’m in the cubicle and ready to go, some moron will spray “Deep Heat” on his balls and the hiss of the can will make me paranoid that there is a snake in the toilet.
- I hate seeing just how much I sweat - The floor of the treadmill could only be more wet if it was hosting a gangbang. Without fail every machine I use is covered in litres of my perspiration. Sometimes it even goes on the adjacent machines when others are using them. It’s really humiliating.
- I bought into the idea that maybe I’d meet new friends at the gym and I haven’t - I just don’t want to socialise after a hard day at work. I want to exercise and go home. Plus I get tired of explaining to fat Dave why I still have saggy breasts and a pot belly even though I run 40 miles a week.
“Dave, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I’m genetical predisposed to having titties!” - Above all, I just don’t get a kick out of going to the gym anymore - when I am running outdoors these days I want to stay out as long as possible if the weather is good. When I’m in the gym I am counting the minutes until it is home time. The gym is claustrophobic, the atmosphere is forced and I just fucking hate the entire miserable experience. That’s why I’m never going back.
Thanks for reading. I’m up tomorrow at 5am for my first run of the week. I post most of my runs up on Facebook now, so if you like following my progress you can ‘like’ the page and receive all of my tedious updates.
Related running posts:
by Matt the Angry Jogger
Matt lost 70lbs through running and has ran 13 half marathons and 4 full ones. He hates health freaks with a fucking passion and loves cheese and cider.
Re your 2nd point above… I once belonged to a gym where women would do yoga naked in the sauna. I’m pretty comfortable with the human body, but all I could think of was… “people have to SIT on those seats where your naked ass has been!” *shudder*