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First resolution: Time to quit the gym

Alright everyone, you’ve had your fun. You argued drunkenly with yourfamily, kissed a complete stranger at midnight and ate about a year’sworth of calories in the span of one week. Now it’s time to get serious.

Alright everyone, you’ve had your fun. You argued drunkenly with your family, kissed a complete stranger at midnight and ate about a year’s worth of calories in the span of one week. Now it’s time to get serious.


Last weekend, as I peered from under my duvet at a disaster zone of empty champagne bottles and orphaned sequins, I thought to myself that perhaps 2011 should be the year I start making some changes.


And so, on a gloomy January morning, I pledge this will be the year I start taking vitamins. I’ll read more books, watch less television, pay my bills on time and finally, against typical New Year tradition, I resolved to quit the gym.


I’ve been a member of an overpriced health club for more than a year now, the number of times I’ve actually visited said facility amounts to the caloric value of four Tic Tacs. Sixty dollars a month debited from my chequing account and all I have to show for it is a small laminated card collecting dust in my wallet.


Over the years I have joined many a flashy fitness temple with the exact same result — I go routinely for about two months before my commitment wavers and I reach the point where it becomes embarrassing to even think about showing my face there.


So why join in the first place? Initially, I am wowed by the shiny equipment and excessive amenities. “You mean there’s a steam room and a smoothie bar? Here’s my credit card.”


But while the flashy accoutrements might lure me in at first, nothing really changes the fact that I just can’t stand the lycra-clad cliques of established gym-goers, partly because I despise their hard-bodied smugness, but mostly because they look so good in skinny jeans.


Sure, there may be some well-meaning aerobic enthusiasts, but most of the crop-top wearing gym rats aren’t really there to exercise. They’re there to work on their fake tans, buy protein powder and, most importantly, they are there to check each other out. For you see, there’s no difference between the gym and an obnoxious nightclub; there is an expensive cover charge, aggressive music, sweaty bodies and plenty of tight neon clothing.


So, in 2011, I resolve to leave the hormonally charged muscleheads to their own devices and promise myself that this is the year I finally kick my habit of avoiding the gym and cancel my membership for good.

 
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