the gym couple.

To be honest, I'm a little bored with the whole let's find me a new path in life because I don't like the one I'm on theme I've been going with the past couple of posts. Trust me, that little intenal tug-of-war isn't going anywhere, so rest assured I'll finish rating my new potential careers at some point this week.

Just not today.

Today, I'd like to talk about a little thing that's causing me a lot of anxiety.


A little thing I like to call, the 'gym couple.'


NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY likes that couple. You know the one I'm talking about. Matching outfits, annoying vernacular of encouraging phrases infused with pet names,  PECKING EACH OTHER ON THE MOUTH BETWEEN SETS OF REPS.

It's... just..... too.... much.


It's too much for any sane person, single or taken, who is genuinely trying to sweat five pounds through their pores in the next forty five minutes of intense self-inflicted pain and discomfort.

I hate the couple. Because how can they possibly be getting an actual, decent, worth-going-through-all-the-motions-leading-up-to-working-out, work-out session in with the other one hovering around, watching every single fucking move they make? How can they possibly be working off the aggresion that built up all day towards one another from the dishes that he left in the sink unwashed, or how she used all the hot water this morning?? I mean, it's healthy, right? To need to just blow off some steam sweating your ass off instead of getting into a screaming match over a used cereal bowl or a luke-warm shower? Do they have no conflicts?


Ludicrous.


I just don't see how it can really be healthy to have your significant other there with you during the daily workout. Sure, I enjoy a nice bike ride with Manfriend. We walk the dog together. We've gone canoeing together. (In hindsight, the canoeing example isn't actually a very good one, because I'm incredibly bossy and I have to be the one steering and when you're trapped on a boat with the other most stubborn person on the planet, copious amounts of gummi worms are sometimes necessary to mend things at the end of the ordeal. AKA, I don't think Manfriend had an awesome time canoeing with me, but whatever I'm probably the best canoeing partner I know. )


So anyway, I'm vehemently opposed to the idea that 'the couple that works out together, stays together.' GROSS. I love Manfriend and I'm not really all that timid about being sweaty and digusting when I'm around him, but I NEED my workout time to be mine.


 Which is why a really, really strange thing happened last night.


Recently, Manfriend joined a gym. A Martial Arts gym. Recently, I really really wanted to join a gym, but due to the fact that I run outside and would only use the gym every now and then to swim laps, do a class, or do upper body stuff a couple of times a week, it doesn't really fit into my budget. AKA, my credit card debt isn't going anywhere and my parents would probably skin me alive if I joined a gym right now. I realize it's sad that I just blamed my parents for not joining a gym, but trust me, they can take it.

Muay Thai. Not Manfriend, but this is what he's doing with his life these days.

Sooooooooo anyway, Manfriend is doing Muay Thai now. BUT ALSO they do a Strength and Conditioning class at his gym a few times a week for an hour. andifyoulivewithyoursignificantotherthentheycancomeforfreeanddothatclasstoo.

And goddamnit, it's FREE.

So, what I'm trying to say is that last night I went to the class. With Manfriend. I mean, not technically with him, with him, since he was already there for his specific class, which was right before the one I came for. So we drove seperately. But I mean, we both did the class.


Together.

But not like, together, together.


I promise we didn't even really speak to one another. I made sure to be on a different heavy bag when we did punching exersizes. It was basically like we weren't even there together.


Except we were. The last 15 minutes or so we did mat stuff and we were definitely right next to each other. And at the end, we got called out by the main dude that runs the academy.

"Look at theeees couple, they're gettin' fit togethaa."



Fuck me.



But you know what? Screw it. I really enjoyed the class. The owner's name is Mr. Bigby, and I get a shit-ton of pleasure out of repeating his name in every weird voice I can think up with regularity. I liked the girl-to-guy ratio, and how much sweat I expelled in the one-hour period, and I especially got a kick out of punching those bags as hard as I possibly could with absolutely zero reprecussions for being aggressive.

I figure, as long as we're not dressing alike, acknowledging each other during the time we're there, and he's not calling me 'sugar-tits,' while I'm mentally kicking the shit out of the lady that cut me off on the entrance ramp on my commute home, then I guess I can live with this little set-up. Come on, it's free. I've still got my daily run to pound out any residual neurotisism hanging around my psyche. I don't think we're in any danger of ever dressing in matching outfits to go work out, or lifting weights together. But, I guess this is probably how these things start. Meh.


Plus, I don't really think I can express in words how much enjoyment I found out that I get in punching things, otherwise I just carry all that shit around, because I'm really bad at just letting things go.


Hate me if you wanna, I'll be getting fit enough to kick your ass.




XO Sare.