January at the Y

Over the past few years, I think I've developed the traits and habits required to be completely judgemental of the miserable transformation that has occurred at the local YMCA. Since October, I've given up on the outdoors and have focused my athletic prowess on the treadmills and weight machines down the street at the Y (with the help of my boss's family pass, of course). I've been running somewhat regularly for the past few year. Not far by any means, a couple miles, just long enough to completely saturate myself in vegetarian sweat, and just far enough to sprint past a couple of over confident d-bags who for some reason insist on running with their girlfriends who tend to be in much better shape. I'm pretty sure my main reason for running in the first place was to be seen running. That, and to have an excuse to take a second shower in the day, the one I love the most but would otherwise feel too guilty to take in fear that the water meter reader would raise an eyebrow in judgement.

While running, I'm sure a couple calories were burned, and I know I can handle a flight of stairs with a bit more grace. The point is, my running is neither health-based nor competition-based. I don't do it to fit into my skinny jeans (my ass is too small and feet too big to ever feel publicly acceptable in a pair of those) and I don't do it to look like some sort of famous person. I don't even like running, really. It's just something I do, I have the shoes, I have the shorts, the sweatband, the playlist, the time...why not put them to use?

I describe my own reasons for fitness to demonstrate why all of the people that are now at the Y in January, probably won't be in February. They've all made silly little resolutions to themselves. Some have Keira Knightley in their dreams (either to look like her, or to bed her). Others may want to postpone their future heart disease, or get their diabetes in check. Some post-birth stretch marks may serve as inspiration, or maybe it was the ridiculous number of absolutely terrible NFL teams this year that has motivated some surely to be disappointed loyal fans to try out for their local clubs. Regardless of the specific reasons enticing so many people to join the gym this January, there is a common theme. They're all doing it for stupid reasons. They'll give up soon enough. After all, it shouldn't take long for one to realize that they won't be dating Keira soon (I mean, just watch Love Actually a couple times, she's in love, man, and despite whatever theatrical stunts you may try to pull, she's not leaving your best friend for you!).

I'm all for these resolutioners to get fit (at the end of the day, with health reform, it'll be my ass that'll be paying for their hospital bills) but can't they go before work? I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss the November Y. The one with the old hippie who wore high thick socks and walked on an incline for seemingly ever. The one with the old Asian lady that moved her arms in jerks with 2.5 lb weights in each hand. The Y with the younger guy that would watch the Asian lady while slowly pedalling a bicycle. This is the YMCA I miss. The one full of people that just go because they go, because it's a stupid routine they've picked up along the way. There is no over exertion in the November YMCA. No one is sweating too much, no one is spotting anyone, no one is (god forbid) using multiple cardio machines in a single workout.

By mid-February, I think (I hope) this riduculousness will end. Valentine's day will come and go and the semi-dedicated resolutioners will realize that their loved ones still love them, and that the ones they hope will love them are still beyond their reach. Then, in February, I'll have my Y back.