I am also in the gym. As a card index
Glorious the day you registered in the gym. Less glorious the two contract years thereafter, in which one shines in the courses, but above all (or actually exclusively) by absence. At the same time, one had already made friends with the six-pack, which one suspects is the oh-that-is-only-ne-little-table-layer. If only there was not that huge bastard who sits fat and sedate on the sports bag. Always exactly when you want to go. Our author knows the problem. It's that time again. I stand in front of my sports bag and stare at her. She stares back. Then I go to the fridge. So on an empty stomach you should not even do sports, I think. And besides, I still have a little time. I make myself a cheese bread (whole grain with salad leaves on it, you want to do everything right) and sit down briefly at the table. Because eating alone makes you fat, I pull you over on the sofa and turn on the TV. Look, Gilmore Girls, I have not done that in a long time. But is a mistake, eat all the time and do not even have a sports bag. I switch to "Designated Survivor" is a new series. Mega exciting. Unfortunately. Unfortunately, the studio closed three hours later and I feel terrible. I have a fitness watch. Honestly! It really is not my motivation. Unfortunately, my motivation is not expressed in sports units, but rather in the acquisition of high-quality sports clothes, a fitness watch and just this damned signature in the New Year's Enthusiasm (and honestly still half drunk) on the Fitnessstudiovertrag. As it gets more concrete, I basically find something that needs to be done urgently. Food for example. I seek advice from a professional. Melanie Döring is a specialist in change processes and was even a mental coach at the junior performance center of FC St. Pauli. Just the right woman for my problem. If she was able to motivate adolescent boys to play high-performance sport for 90 minutes each day in wind, rain, storm or summer heat instead of playing PC Fifa, then it must be child's play to bring me to the gym once. "Unfortunately, that's not so easy," says the expert. And I think: my speech. My problem, she says, is my routines. "There is really nothing more difficult than breaking routines and establishing new routines." This appeases my guilty conscience somewhat. This barrier, says Melanie Döring, is so well-known that she has been given a name: pig. Ha, there he is again, the pig dog. I ask what can I do about this creep. "Acting consciously," she replies, explaining to me that I have no chance against the mutt if I'm not aware why I want to do sports at all. My motivation is dimming After picking up some tips, I try again the next day. My bag is already packed. I stand naked in front of the mirror to save myself the long time thinking about my motivation. I'm just an effective guy. A look, motivation recognized. I want to be able to finally go back to the pool around the corner, without being afraid to meet someone I know. I want to be able to watch my butt without having to think about gravity and it would be really nice if my upper arms did not wave any longer than me. At the same moment an idea comes to me. Outdoor pool! Not even around the corner (conscious action alone does not help against cellulite - of course), but that in the other district would be great. Maybe I'm just not the gym guy. Before I change my mind, I call "Kindeeeeeeer, Freibaaaaaad!" through the house. If anyone is more successful in enforcing his will than the bastard, then only my stubborn brood. We pack everything and jet into the outdoor pool. Not around the corner, to mention that again. There she is, the trainer from the gym Satisfied, I loll in the sun and feel beautiful just because I managed to outsmart the swineherd. Only five minutes left, then I'll slide like an arrow through the water. At least one hour. If not two. I get up and walk raised and well-concealed in my sauna towel to the edge of the pool. Seconds before I drop the covers, I hear my name. It's Lisa, my neighbor. Of course Lisa, who else? All the other people I know have a few problem areas. Why should I meet them at the outdoor pool on the other side of town? No, of course, the dramaturgy of my life is Lisa. The one who does not even know how bacon feels. The one who, six weeks after the birth of her second child, picked up the big one in hot pants from the kindergarten and again gave body combat classes in the studio. Unfortunately, I know only by hearsay. Lisa warmly falls to me around the sauna-covered body. "Well?" She asks. "What are you doing here?" I'm not telling her that I just did not want to meet anyone. Especially not her."Come with me!", She says mysteriously and pulls me to her deckchair. She has chocolate biscuits and canned prosecco in her bag. "I actually had a date with a friend," she says. But she was obviously on the sofa. Pull chocolate biscuits instead of strips We sink too. Tell us about our men, our youthful sins and dream of club vacation in the Caribbean to escape from everyday life. And I notice: even a Lisa is worried. From minute to minute, I feel better and slowly let the sauna towel sink. I notice that Lisa just looks straight at me all the time. My dings do not interest her the bean. We laugh and joke, while the children deliver a wild water fight. "Somehow crazy that we have never really talked," I say after the second prosecco dose. "Yes, totally," says Lisa. "We are so similar!" The craziest thing is: she's right! After a sobering-up lesson, we're still going to pull a few laps. Determined, I get up and walk ahead without a towel. I am good. Also with dents. In the evening I lie proudly in my bed. I did sports today, yes, but that's not it. Today I broke the routine of being ashamed of myself. And I realized that the others do not much care what I look like. But the best part is: I enjoyed swimming. I decide to cancel the gym contract. Then I slip into the nursery again and wake up the youngest. "Hey, tomorrow we'll go back to the pool," I say, to be on the safe side with the bastard. "It's good, Mama!" He whispers sleepily and I know he'll make sure I keep my promise. Back in my own bed, I forge the boldest plan I've ever forged: I decide to go to the pool around the corner tomorrow. Maybe I'll meet Lisa. Or whoever. I do not care.
