It's all about The Dirt:

Okay, I have “gym phobia”, or an aversion to participating in any group class that is contained inside a building with stifled air. I began to examine why, so I go back into my 20’s (it doesn’t feel like that long ago) when “Flashdance”, aerobics and Madonna were hip and happenin’.

Traveling down my checkered past, I stumble upon an old life of “the gym”, or rather “the club”. First of all, it was necessary to have the hottest lookin’ outfit, as if it was a modeling runway of sorts: The leotard, the pants, the latest and greatest aerobic shoes, and the bang hairdo with a scrunchie. “The club” was a full-on 80’s style, nightclub gym. Complete with flashing lights, mirrors everywhere, carpeting pieced together in bright swirls, hip-hop music, bar and extremely attractive people everywhere. I always thought the overweight folks who cared to join had a LOT of guts being surrounded by the Barbie-doll women and buff, Ken-men. It was a real, live “meat market”.

All this was such a vanity world that I never realized I was a part of. The striving for perfection was oozing out of the walls, and I made that my home away from home? Six to seven days a week, I would pour my sweat out for a 30 min. warm-up on the stairmaster, feeling like it was a never-ending effort on steps to nowhere. Then fly into the aerobics room for an hour with 30 competitive women looking to get the highest kick and the best form at the highest intensity. For an activity that was in the dark with loud, 80’s music and flashing lights, it was an all-out battle to see who could keep up with the moves and power of the aerobic instructor. This was a “performance” because the entire back was enclosed in glass around the indoor track.

I think back and wonder why I did it. Really this was my first competitive sport… the aerobics room.

After the cloud of steamy sweat lifted out of the room, it was time to move onto weights. Nothing big or burly for me, just toning for about 45 min. Then about an hour run around the track, surrounded by more mirrors, parading me through the meaty part of the club, the bodybuilders all pumped up with their big weights and steroids, smelling testosterone in the air. A 20 min. stretch and cool down topped out the day, and I was ready to go home and eat. Almost every day… where’s the balance, fresh air and sunshine?

Almost every day, I went from a bus to and “el” train to a classroom or work, then back to go sweat in a building and exercise, with the pressure of competing and comparing.

I don’t want to be inside to play anymore!!!

I don’t want to compete on the floor, in a square room with over-
stimulating, fluorescent lights and some fake, pretend-you’re-outside music. The feeling is centered around comparing yourself to someone else, not being with you and your soul to find your true inner self, physically and emotionally.

When I ride, hike, ski, feel the sun on my face, smell the abundant air, this is when I feel alive. Not when I’m competing with somebody sardined next to me in a room so we all can fit. I’m game in a peloton, but being outside totally contributes to the entire experience: To ride alongside the road and see the sunflowers smile at you… to get a brisk wind in your face reminding you to push harder… to brush silky leaves as you whirl by… to stop at a log in the trail and breathe, hear and smell.

That’s what a full-body experience is made of… for me.

I know there’s a time and place for the gym when the weather is frigid and the snow is piling. To be able to put on shorts in the middle of winter has its warming qualities for sure. But there’s always something missing… a deep sense of a full body immersion into self while sweating, digging and powering. That’s why I like to play outside all year long. I’m so grateful that I can.

You’ll find me at the gym, but don’t expect me to be soulfully fulfilled in a box.

(photo credit)