On public gyms

I went home for a volunteer gig this weekend. While home, my mom and I pursued our quests for personal fitness by going to the community center to use the workout machines. I have no problem with this. I like this plan.

The part I always forget about public workout facilities is that they're public. Technically, there is nothing wrong with this. When I'm home, however, I'm used to running on trails in regional parks - outdoors and alone. The only real social courtesies you have to remember are to make sure the people ahead of you hear if you want to pass them, and not to let your dog poop on the trail without picking it up. However fast or slow you go is up to you - and you run into all speeds and skill levels.

Public gyms put everyone in the same room and add a social layer of visibility: no matter you fitness level or mile time, THEY CAN SEE YOU. Sometimes the only consolation I can offer myself on a bad day is that only God and I saw the whole run. When I'm in a public gym, though, I'm plagued by self-doubt - usually along the lines of "I bet that five-year-old chasing his dad around the track is running faster than me" and "I'm sure those teenagers playing basketball are secretly laughing at my lack of endurance" and "those gray-haired individuals probably think this 20-year-old is a wimp."

The thing is, most of those are probably untrue and are very self-centered. I dom't have any kids I have to look after, so I have many years of training to make sure I can keep up with any five-year-olds I may wind up having custody of. As judgmental as people can get, I'm pretty sure the teenagers and gray-haired people alike care more about their own games of basketball and badminton than they care about my mile time.

And yet, all the fears I have are directly proportionate to how many other people per square foot there are in the workout area. There are few times anyone else cares about my pace: to make sure they can get their basketball off the track before I (or any other runner) accidentally run them over, or when my mom is wondering when I'm done. So why do I care so much? The very fact that I'm priming my muscles for fitness should send the signal that I am working on being a physically viable member of the species, and that I am resisting the urge to sit on the couch and marathon Doctor Who with a bunch of yarn and cookies.  Maybe I'm scared that people would realize I sometimes prefer the TV-and-cookies route and call me an imposter?

In the end, though, nobody really cares. Just like in real life, be polite to people in the gym. And that's all.