When I was shopping around for a gym to call home, I took a tour at a popular fitness centre not far from my home. The bubbly (and very fit-looking) young lady paraded me through the facility with much pride and exuberance. I saw the yoga studio, the free weight area as well as the sauna. It was an impressive tour, with state of the art equipment and I considered joining, but something held me back from signing on the dotted line. That something was that everyone looked like they just walked off the cover of Muscle and Fitness magazine. Not a T-Rex, muffin top or saddlebag could be seen anywhere. Everyone was picture perfect. To be honest, I found this all too intimidating. Who could I discuss the latest cellulite cream with in the change room? These ladies probably didn’t have an inch of orange peel skin on them. Mind you, many of the members are probably training for competitions, or training to become at the professional level and they look nothing short of fantastic. My friend’s wife attends this gym and she used to be a figure model at the competitive level when she was younger. Enough said. Not only that, but the members sported the latest fitness apparel, with fancy schmancy gadgets attached to their bodies. Could I be comfortable here in my worn out “just do it” sweat pants that are faded and aged, but oh so comfy? I didn’t think so. Bubbly fit girl continued to sing the praises of the facility, telling me I would get the results I wanted by joining without a doubt, and I believed her. Who couldn’t get motivated with all those muscles around? However, I got up from my seat, thanked her for the great tour, but told her that I wanted to shop around.
Later that week, I walked into the gym I currently attend. I was given the tour by another bubbly young lady. It immediately felt like home. The facility was clean, well equipped and there were shapes and sizes of all kinds working out. There were tall, slender bananas, who are willowy and delicate. There were apples, with slimmer legs and larger upper bodies and there were other pears like me, as well as ladies who looked like they were fitness models. It was literally a fruit basket with an array of lovely shapes, all working toward a common goal. I thought, this is the place I could wear my old just do it comfy pants. That afternoon, I signed on the dotted line, and have no regrets. Life in the fruit basket gets better and better.
(photo credit courtesy of www.awesomantor.com