A Gym Rat ... For All Seasons?

This might have gone down as my busiest January ever. It certainly won’t be noted as my happiest.

The only thing keeping me close to normal are the four or five times I week I head to the unassuming cinderblock building in the Downtown neighborhood known as The Gulch.

On a lark, I went to an early morning boot camp class my co-worker Geppe talked me into. Crawling out of bed in 20-degree weather, I walked into the workout studio in enough time to start running warm-up laps.

Forty-five brutal minutes later, I became a convert. – even though I spend the rest of the day barely able to move my legs from the muscle pain. I’ve hit at least two boot camps a week since early December, starting off both Christmas Eve (terrible day) and New Year’s Eve (good on the balance).

Now that I discovered the evening boot camp burns away all the tension of the workday, I’ve been on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday kick. A few weeks ago I started Spinning to complement boot camp’s core exercises; now 45 minutes of jumps and steady inclines on a stationary bike never felt so compelling. Giddy up.

With at least one Spin class a week and a long run to keep up my half-marathon training in the dreary months, I have quickly fallen into a lifestyle that always eluded me. I am a gym rat.

I even spent a Friday night there – to improve the gym’s profile, the owners hosted a meet-up for a local hiking group that involved a blind wine tasting. Giddy up again.

All those wasted gym and YMCA memberships finally led me to a place where I’m comfortable working out. Friendly and without ego, the small gym atmosphere suits me well. The owner is a former co-worker, and its mission focuses more on total health.

I just love using exercises that use my body against me – it’s too easy to cheat on weight machines. Plus, there are few exercises more perfect than a push-up – although plank walk-ups, mountain climbers and battling ropes certainly make strong arguments.

The gym rat’s routine hasn’t instilled a new sense of fashion in me. All the weight I have gained since January 2007 has left my workout shirts a little snug – even the legally blind could follow the contours of my beer gut.

But that is intentional I catch sight of that paunch on the mirrored walls, and I want it gone. I lunge deeper, grunt harder when trying to sustain a plank or strain closer to the toes the gut prevents me from touching. On some exercises, I cheat and do extra reps because all the soreness and pain is temporary.

Most importantly, I suck that gut in as far as I can, hoping that one day I can glance at myself in those mirrors and find it gone.

For the first time, that doesn’t feel like a pipe dream.