Confessions of a Gym Virgin: Part II

This past Monday morning I woke up with feelings of grit and determination and resolve and knew that it was The Day I Would Begin Bettering Myself Through Physical Fitness. So I printed out my one-month gym membership Groupon and assembled a gym bag of sorts — old pajama sweatpants from summer camp that I had since modified into capris, a Pizza Lucé T-shirt, my threadbare sports bra and a pair of running shoes that I had bought on sale with good intentions but had never broken in.

I made it through the work day and headed to the gym directly afterward. As I approached the doors, a tiny knot of apprehension blossomed in my stomach. As I got closer, the anxiety spread; my palms were sweating as I grasped the door handle. "Get a grip, Katherine," I whispered to myself, then blinked hard as if waking from a dream and threw the door open.

I approached the front desk. A short, fair-skinned girl beamed at me. "Hi, welcome to Crunch!" I thought briefly about turning on my heel and leaving without a word, but instead awkwardly responded with "OH HI. Hi. Yes. I have never been here, but here ... is where I want to be. Yes."

She gave me a quizzical look. I silently cursed my ineptitude and continued. "I have a Groupon."

"Oh!" She was smiling again. "Let me get a manager."

Soon, a brusque, overly tanned middle-aged woman was entering my information into a computer. She followed up by giving me a membership card and a half-assed tour of the facilities. I was impressed that there were always classes going on in various studios, plus more treadmills and elliptical machines than I could count. The locker room, though ridiculously crowded, was immaculate, and a lot of the bathroom basics — towels, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, hair dryers, mouthwash and even Q-tips — were provided free of charge.

I headed back to the front desk to grab a towel and have the cute fair-skinned girl scan my card. I also bought a lock (rather necessary) and a bottle of water (almost more so). The girl pointed out some clipboards on the desk. "These are sign-up sheets for classes. We put them out half an hour before the classes are scheduled to start."

I glanced at one. "What's 'The Ride'?"

"That's our spin class," she responded. "It's probably the most popular class. We offer it at least once every day of the week."

Stationary bikes, I thought to myself. How hard can that be? Well, probably pretty hard. But I used to bike everywhere. I can do this.

I grabbed a pen and wrote down my name and noted that the class started in 20 minutes. I headed back down to the locker room to change. Suddenly, I became hyper-aware of my surroundings. Everyone around me was lean and muscular, towels draped around their necks in some kind of nonchalant athletic manner, SIGG bottles and VitaminWaters tucked under their arms. Oh god. Where was I?! This wasn't the Minneapolis YWCA. These people weren't lazy schmucks looking to negate their grease intake with a couple of sit-ups. These were Serious Fitness People.

And I was very, very afraid.