Leaving the Gym: The Best Minute of My Day

Since beginning my fitness journey, I have been asked:

• Don't you feel better?
• Is it getting easier to go to the gym every day?
• When are you going to post the 'Before and After' pictures?

And my honest answer is "Well, it sucks less." This means that going to the gym now sucks less than it did when I started about eight weeks ago.

When I first started going (at five in the morning, I might add, because that's the only time in my day when I can go), it was dreadful. The alarm would go off, and the only thing that would keep me from turning it off was the fact that the 'off' switch on my alarm is not reachable from my side of the bed.

Alerted by the alarm, Crazy Daisy, the Most Irritatingly Peppy Beagle in the Universe, decided to nip my toes even before they hit the ground, and I would pull on shirt, shorts, and then try to get shoes on as Daisy tried to give me a pedicure with her teeth. Then, Pearl, the Seventy Pound German Shepherd would wander in, wondering what the heck was going on. (I like Pearl because, like me, she is neither an early or an easy riser.)

I would be halfway through walking them around the block when I would wonder, "Why in the world am I up at Dark Thirty?" Then, it would dawn on me, "Oh, yeah, I meant to go to the gym today." By the time I finished the walk and got the dogs back home, I would figure that, well, since I"m already awake, and up, I'd go to the gym.

So I'd drive to good ol' Flex Fit gym, do my workout, planning to quit after about each thirty seconds of cardio or each set of 10 on each weightlifting machine, planning on just giving up and going home and going back to bed. But then I'd get through that thirty seconds of bike riding or whatever cardio I was doing, or that set of ten on the wight machine, and I'd say, "well, maybe I'll do a bit more." Then I would repeat this process until I'd finish.

After about two weeks, I was gasping less and was able to notice that there were actually televisions on the wall of the gym.

After three weeks, I was less winded enough that I actually noticed there were other people in the gym.

After about four weeks, I was actually working out and was still getting enough air to my brain that I actually noticed that the same movie (Priest) was on every day.

After about six weeks, I actually was awake enough at five that I started planning on taking the dogs for a walk before the gym (rather than accidentally being tricked into it by Crazy Daisy).

The downside to this was that Crazy Daisy get used to the routine and would be sitting on the bed, staring at me, the second the alarm went off. Very disconcerting, to be stared at by a dog justly nicknamed Crazy. She has yet to stop nipping my toes as I try to pull my shoes on.

After eight weeks, I am not noticeably skinnier.

My clothes may not fit as badly as they once did, but I would not classify them as "Fitting Better."

I have not become one of those obnoxious Fitness Afficionados who suddenly preach the Virtues of Getting Git (as they preach the Virtues of Whatever Else Their Current Enthusiasm Is). I doubt most people I work with or encounter in my day to day, non gym life, even know I work out.

I don't know that I feel any better. But I don't feel any worse, and at my age, this is a victory. It's about hanging on!

Going to the gym isn't any easier. It's just become habit. My getting up, getting dressed, walking the dog routine has become so ingrained that I'm actually on my way to the gym before I ask myself the dreaded question, "Do I really want to go to the gym today?"

There will be no 'Before and After' pictures in which I have my "Biggest Loser Moment," and reveal my suddenly svelte self to friends and family, as they cheer and whoop while NBC's cameras roll. Realistically, my fitness goal is to delay the near-fatal heart attack that my father had at age 55 until later.

I have WAY TOO MUCH CHEST HAIR to have open-heart surgery.

So be best minute of the day is the minute I leave the gym after having completed my work out. I'm not sure why.

Maybe it's a sense of accomplishment. I did it!

Maybe it's relief--thank God it's over!

Maybe it's because I'm escaping the endless noise of the awful radio station that's perpetually on (which purports to play '90s alternative rock' even though it's clear the programmer has no idea what 90s alternative rock IS).

Maybe it's euphoria caused by lack of oxygen to the brain.

Some friends have their own theories:

Ann-Marie Lopez says it's "All of the above."

The always supportive Jay Butler says I should be happy that I "didn't pass out and die after all the cardio.'

Jerry Davis says that in "A few more years and you will be like the rest of us, as Terry Bradshaw says: 'Old, Fat, & Ugly.'" He predicts my future holds lots of Slim Fast.

All I can say in reply to them, and to others is that, after eight weeks of going to the gym, "It sucks less" than it did before.