no sweat

I've broken another one of my unspoken rules.

I've joined a gym.

Yes, it's true. I told myself I'd never join a gym, because this

doesn't compare to this:

You should get the picture, but I'll spell it out as well. As a sort of punishment for my logical self.
 Up til now, of course, I haven't been a gym member, but I've gone on guest passes, and used the gyms at school and now at work. I get bored with gyms. Ellipticals are great exercise, but my brain falls asleep. In college, I'd study anatomy or Spanish grammar while running on the treadmill, but that's a tripping hazard, can also make me get motion sickness, and isn't enjoyable. And that's just cardio stuff. I see even less potential in weights. Okay, technically, I see even less potential of me using the weights. The odds of me lifting go up if there is a diagram showing me what to do, but I lack any motivation to do more than 2 sets of 10. And that's once a week. Maybe.
Yeah, so gyms aren't my thing. Stick me on a bike, drop me in the lake, set me on a mountain [difficult to do in Houston. this is a rhetorical command] and I'll be as happy as a bug in a rug. Put me in a gym, and I have less motivation than a banana. How much motivation do bananas have? Well, I don't know. My motivation in gyms is just as mysterious.
So WHY did I join? Well, did I tell you that gullibility and gymnasium, even though they sound completely different, actually start with the same letter? Yep, G. G for 'get-a-grip, it's-just-a-gym.'

Last week, I was not motivated to exercise outside. It was hot. and muggy. And you can avoid that by waking up way earlier, but sleep and I have a hard time parting. So I got the idea to ask my friend for a guest pass to her gym, and I went to a yoga class with her. Pretty sure it was just as muggy in the class, and with even less air circulation, but peer pressure is an amazing thing. So I went back.
I did a zumba class, where I was one of maybe 3 white chicks in a room of mostly latinas. I only noticed because I saw myself in the mirrors, and I stuck out like a hitchhiker's thumb (personally, I think that simile makes more sense than the injured thumb version).
I went to a water aerobics class, where I was definitely the only person under the age of 50.
I went to a boot camp conditioning class; that wasn't my favorite. The instructor would re-position my 'plank', and then when she turned her back I'd do my own thing again. Which in this case was lying on the floor.
And I went to a cycling class, where in-between telling us to jump on and off of our seats, or to 'surge up the mountain', the instructor would talk to us about how we could come to him with any problems, because he was a pastor. Sometimes, I get a reminder that I live in the Bible Belt.
At the end of the week, I decided that going to the gym actually can be entertaining. In exchange for my credit card, I got a membership card.
And then I went the extra mile.
I got a personal trainer.
Because before the letter G, is the letter F, and that stands for flattery.
On joining the gym, I got one free session with a personal trainer. So today I showed up, got weighed, talked about goals, and then got one-on-one direction from an older-yet-still-fit trainer who told me that I looked awesome even when I sweat; that I had a great build, although my legs were a little long and my waist a little short; and that, moreover, I was hot, smart, and had a great personality.
Well, shoot. Where do I sign?
I really did think about this. And I thought I'd have to create some sort of pressure to get me exercising again, and since I'm not signed up for a race and have no desire to be a model, I'd make the money my pressure to get back in shape, with the added bonus of learning new work-outs.
And getting flattered.

I think I'm motivated.