When I left my last job I didn’t know what to do with myself. I hadn’t had time off in years, and it didn’t feel right. People kept telling me to enjoy it, to relax. But really. Me, relaxed? Right. So I picked up my volunteering hours and got a part time job working at a local fitness center. It has kept me busy and adds a little bit to my bank account. Win-win, right?
Except kind of not really. Because while I had been a member there for almost two years, and forced myself to work out several times a week, working there has made me a bit of a fraud. I got the job because I needed one and my boss understood, needed part time help, and liked the idea of having another woman working the floor (I bring the number of women working the floor to a total of 3). I also knew the equipment and wouldn’t need a ton of training. But here’s the thing. Most people who work in a fitness center are really into fitness. They are personal trainers, they’ve gone to school for it, they live it. And I’ve been asked if I’ll become a certified trainer, and if I’m really into fitness, and this is my favorite – what is my fitness history? And I hedge around the truth and create statements based on lies of omission. And I feel terrible about it, but I’d feel worse outright lying about it.
I work out not because I love fitness, or because I enjoy it, or because I feel that it has to be a way of life. I work out because I don’t want to get fat, and because I’ve found that the endorphins released during exercise take the edge off life. So no, I’m not going to become a certified fitness trainer. But I really admire the people I work with that have made fitness their life. I just don’t have it in me.
So I go to work and I smile and nod and chat with members and make sure no one is about to maim themselves with equipment. And when my shift is over I force myself through my workout. Then I realize I’ve made it through another day, faking fitness. And that makes me laugh. Life can’t be all bad when it makes you laugh, right?