Gym class hasn't changed

In middle and high school, I was one of many who had her fair share of humiliating gym class moments. I'm surprised I got out of 10th grade gym class with zero concussions, due to the number of volleyballs that came careening at my head. Even the advice to picture the volleyball as the head of the guy who teased me mercilessly and called me Ki-ara didn't do much. Thank God gym teachers put picking teams to rest, or I would've been the girl in the bleachers doing her English homework.

The only times I looked forward to gym class were when I could show off my mad speed walking skills (oh, the number of times I have walked the track just to avoid soccer), giggle at my friend collapsing off the stationary bike, and participate in the dance unit. Let me tell you, I rocked swing dance, and only then could I feel uninhibited enough to ask the cute guy to dance. I mean, when else can you dance with an awkward teenager in the middle of a gym? Oh wait...

So by the time I got to college, I figured, never again will I have to feel awkward in a sea of sweat and testosterone! No more will my legs feel like jello on a treadmill, nor will I have to face the humiliation of attempting to run a mile. I could just yoga it up like a normal person, and be done with it. I could avoid both the freshman 15 and utter embarrassment...only now am I starting to realize that's said by NO ONE EVER. Maybe there are no torturous Phys Ed classes, but if you want to stay in shape, you will, at some point in your life, have to answer the doom that is the gym. There's only so many times you can unroll your yoga mat in front of episodes of How I met Your Mother and a roommate who's wondering why you're squatting in front of her Pop Tarts shelf.

The gym is a scary, scary place. Every other physical activity I've engaged in encourages some form of self expression. Periodic breaks were given. Good times were had by all. Everyone at the gym, it seems, is in their own little bubble of "no pain, no gain." They only break that rule to check out just how fast you're going on the stationary bike. Not that it matters that I have the incline set ten times higher than your machine...nooo, it's just a bragging point that you're going a bajillion times faster. Well la-dee-da, but we'll see how you'll feel when we see whose calves are more built.

Okay, the gym class hero wins that point again. How is it that everyone at the gym is already so freakishly buff? Did they do a pre-gym workout so they could look cool at the public treadmills? I thought abs of steel were only in the movies and on Jillian Michaels, but nope, take a look at Rec Hall, and you'd think we were all training for triathlathons. I mean, seriously, does anyone eat cookie dough around here? Everyone is thin, ripped, and sprinting like the flying spaghetti monster is on their asses (oh no, carbs!). And then there's me. An appreciator of chocolate, I'm less than skinny, and sluggishly traipsing on that treadmill at 3 MPH. And it's like people know--they can sniff out the imposters, the people who dream of one day becoming athletic when homework and sleep don't get in the way of life. You know that person who keeps tabs on you while you're gasping on the treadmill? They're always next to me, forcing me to sprint when I already feel like dying, or my pride will just fly out the window. Except my pride is too exhausted to fly, so it just kind of meanders.

And you can't just break out into dance or a bunch of yoga moves right next to the ellipticles. I'm weird, but not that weird. So suffer I shall, and maybe by the end of this semester I'll be able to run for more than 2 seconds.

Namaste.