How many times do I have to tell how many different people that I don't want my stupid free training session that comes with my new(ish) gym membership? They keep calling. I've told them at the desk in St. Louis Park I'm not interested. When the last guy said, "Okay, fair enough." I thought that was it. And, I really appreciated that he just let it go.
I believe I've gotten a call since then, but again, I can ignore those pretty easily. However, I could not ignore the dude who came up while I was on the upright row machine today. Okay, I'll admit I'm at fault for not being fast enough on my feet to think to lie and say "yes," when he asked if I'd had my free training session. But he could have just let it drop when I said no the first time. Or the second. Or the third. Do I need a fucking reason to say no?
Finally, I got him to leave me the fuck alone, but the damage was done. Yes, clearly I need help because, well, look at me. I can understand why anyone would keep pushing the issue. My fat ass obviously has no idea what I'm doing at the gym, or, I wouldn't be so goddamn fat, right?
This probably couldn't have happened at a worse time. I've been having some really serious body image issues lately. I'm not entirely sure why. The knee and back injuries that put a crimp in my working out for a while that led to me gaining weight probably had a lot to do with it. However, even though my knees aren't totally better, I'm working out at full strength and I can see the weight coming back off, so why am I feeling so fucking awful about myself?
I don't know. Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe I'm just tired. I don't know, but I know I feel even worse about myself for having to leave the gym and not finish my workout because I couldn't stop fucking crying. Thanks, Random Trainer Dude. I was already feeling bad about myself, then you made me feel worse, which made me cry, which meant I couldn't stay at the gym, which made me feel even worse about myself. You win!
But what does working out matter when no matter how much I weigh, I'm still going to be ugly? Working out isn't going to help my awful skin, nor will it make my hair look great. It won't change my weird body shape. Nor will it make me nicer or more fun or smarter or whatever. I don't think about it very often, but Jesus, what is the fucking point?
I suppose it's good that The Boy I Currently Like has his college reunion this weekend (a concept with which I am entirely unfamiliar) and I have nothing to do. I won't have to subject anyone to my self-hate. Just me and lots and lots of booze.