Exercise Diary #5 – Never Overestimate What You Think You Can Lift When Others Are Around November 10, 2007

When it comes to gyms, I have 2 options: the small gym on the ground floor of my apartment building, which is mostly empty and has me singing from the top of my lungs and waving my arms as if I were in a Broadway musical production whenever I’m in there by myself doing my cardio workouts, or the big fancy gym 15 minutes walking distance away, which has three gazillion types of every machine you can think of plus a pool where I occasionally go swimming in the middle of a weekday when I know no one save for retired folks and SAHM moms/wives will catch a glimpse of me in a bathing suit.
 
Most of the time I go to the small gym because given the choice between walking 3/4 of a mile (in the elements) and taking the elevator down four flights, I’d naturally much rather take the elevator. Only on the weekends or on a day off, when I often hang out in that area anyway, do I make it a point to put in my exercise time at the big gym and make the 35 bucks they take from me every month, even when I don’t set foot in it once, worth something.
 
I’m intimidated by the big gym, though. That’s where the tough macho men gather to bulk up.  As a female weakling who can could barely lift one gallon of milk with one arm [three weeks ago], I am [still] no match for these testosterone-charged gym veterans. My biggest fear whenever I dabble with the weight machines at the big gym is that I’ll be caught in the act unable to make the weight in my machine budge.
 
Although it’s probably worse that I have no clue what I’m doing and couldn’t make that fact any more obvious to the world when I spend twice as much time deciphering the instructions on the weight machines and cluelessly fiddling with the adjustments as I do actually lifting the weights, the humiliation that ensues from not being able to lift what you think you can lift bothers me more. At least when I don’t know in which direction I’m supposed to position myself on the machines, I can always watch other people or look at the pictures on the front of the machines. (Oh, what would I do without those pictures? They must have thought of idiots like me when they decided to put them up.)
 
So, to avoid the embarrassment of appearing too cocky for my own good, I always choose the lowest possible weight available on the machines, no matter how ridiculously light it may be, and then add on weights as needed. Not only does it makes me feel like I’m stronger than I think I am, but it gives the impression that I’m underestimating myself, which is a lot better than overestimating yourself and getting caught doing it.