It took me 23 years but I finally did it: I went to the gym.
It took me steps, too:
First, laughing at your friends for going to the gym and being SO American.
Then, admitting that yes, it is American and totally stupid but maybe, MAYBE there is a good thing hidden somewhere.
Talking with some American friends who lived in France and listen to them saying how they were shocked that nobody works out in France.
Listening to your American friends who lived in France slowly laughing at you with the evil laugh of victory.
Listening to your family telling you that “Pffff, seriously, why did you even spend money for that, that’s pure bullshit!”.
The thing is, the US makes you feel like you have to go to the gym. Streets are full of people running, whether it’s 20° or 110°. And then, it makes you feel guilty about not working out. I don’t know how, but that works, and every French person that I know here and who at first refused to work out has now subscribed to a gym because they felt guilty.
So, I finally subscribed. I still couldn’t get in because of some mistakes during the process. I thought it was a sign. I waited another week.
I went back, expecting to find an almost empty place. And then… I found a loud crowded place. And everybody looked so concentrated, so into it, just this first look was worth the pain!
I won’t talk about my boyfriend training me, pushing me and trying to “encourage” me. I still hate him too much for that to even mention him.
I won’t talk about the people there being so funny.
I won’t talk about the really nice and artistic music .
I won’t even talk about the fact that there are TVs all around.
Instead, I’ll just make a small recap of this more-than-a-year personal dilemma:
moving in the US – laughing – debating with yourself – feeling guilty – subscribing – feeling the weight of Destiny above your shoulders – being amazed / amused / shocked – suffering.
That’ll be the only thing I’ll remember: suffering. Putain…