I Started Going To The Gym . . . Again

I start going to the gym again once every four years or so.  Which is dumb because starting is always the hardest part. First, you have to muster the courage to walk through the steamy doors into a world where you clearly do not belong.  In between sets of bench pressing a million pounds, the regulars look at you with accusing eyes, then turn their sculpted backs and whisper to each other. I bet they say things like, “See that guy? Looks like he hasn’t seen the inside of a gym in four years or so.”

Second, it hurts. I mean physically.  After the first set, your muscles start holding up picket signs threatening to go on strike if management doesn’t improve working conditions.

And then there are the mirrors.  They are everywhere.  If a disco ball dropped out of the ceiling and Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees started blaring through the speakers you would NOT be surprised.

But after you get past the shame and the pain and the mirrors, you start to notice the people. They are not all He Man Fitness or Lady Lifter models. They are normal people who work at Publix or sit behind a desk or drive trucks for a living.  And they are there for the same reason you are.  They are trying to become better.  Same goes for the regulars who can plank for 5 minutes without shaking and do 150 reverse lunges while holding 25 pound weights.

Returning to the gym is kind of like going back to church.  It’s a hard to do when you haven’t been in awhile.

First, you don’t belong. The regulars sing all the songs and anticipate the next move in the liturgy and apparently know what the word righteousness means because the guy sitting next to you nodded his head and grunted approvingly when the preacher used it in the sermon.

Second, it hurts.  Emotionally.  Something in a song brushes up against a raw nerve.   A point in the sermon seems aimed right at you.  A scripture nicks your heart.  Even the silence seems to see right through you.  Your shrink is always telling you to move toward the pain because that’s where healing is, but come on.  This is hard.

And then there’s the baggage.  Yours, I mean.  You’ve got more of it than a luggage cart on an airport tarmac the day before Thanksgiving.  Sure, these people are friendly right now.  But if they find out about the history you’re lugging around with you, they are probably not going to be so welcoming.

Look, if you’ll hang in there with it, you really will begin to get past the unfamiliarity, the fear and even the shame.  You’ll begin to notice the people.  They don’t have PhD’s in righteousness and they are not immune to sin.  They are normal people who wrestle with temptation and often lose.  And, believe it or not, they’ve got baggage, too.  That’s why they’re in church. Like you, they are trying to shed some weight.  The kind sin adds.

Going back may be the hardest part.  But it gets better.  It really does.