The gym is for working out. And working out is for eating without consequence.
It’s not the other way around. I’d like to quote the philosopher David Hasslehoff here. Or maybe it was Alec Baldwin. Sometimes I get those two confused. I was reading an interview in which (I think) The Hoff said “You work out so you can eat whatever you want.” This is also my truth, Michael Knight. If I’m committing to the discipline of excercise, I’m going to need some food motivation. I bust my @$$ at the gym so that I can:
a) Drive through Chik-fil-a afterward for lemonade and waffle fries that I will then dip in a very calculated ratio of mayo and ketchup or chik-fil-a sauce.
b) Go to Chueys for Happy Hour later and drown in a car trunk of chips and salsa, followed by some greasy refried beans.
3) Polish off the entire pint of Chunky Monkey, while I watch Netflix.
This is very rational, and shows a basic understanding of how the human body works. I do not squeak out those sit ups or will myself to another set of squats so that I can go home to a plate of chicken and broccoli. That is NOT a reward. That is a consequence. That does not motivate me to work out. In fact, it sort of motivates me to cry. And also I’d like to say that sweet potatoes are NOT GOOD. Unless you make them into fries and smother them in the aforementioned calculated ratio of mayo and ketchup.
The notion of “fueling your workout” with bland protein and steamed vegetables is lost on me. My workout fuels my meals. I enjoy some healthy stuff like fresh pico, Avacado toast, (*see footnote regarding Avacado toast below), or crisp salads with almonds, strawberries and a balsamic drizzle as much as the next human. But I fuel my workout with COFFEE. And also, Amazon Prime Video. The time you spend on the stair master will literally FLY if you are entangled in Sneaky Pete’s lies. Just maybe not the show Catastrophe, because gym people think you are weird if you laugh out loud and pee yourself on the treadmill. Take it from me, I’ve done this. No shame. After bearing multiple children, it happens. The bladder is among the first to go. I’m just glad I was wearing the black leggings that day, so I could preserve a shred of dignity.
When I was in high school, I could drive through Taco Bell for a Nachos BellGrande and then straight to the Moonlight Drive-In for their peanut butter milkshake. It makes the perfect pairing for Nachos. I don’t know about which Cabernets’ pair with meat but I know about some good variations of nacho-milkshake combinations, now.
I once could do this drive-by-eating ritual weekly and burn the calories at dance practice or riding my bike to the 7-Eleven for a Banana Slurpee .
It is no longer my moment in time for this sort of careless eating- on- the -drive. I have come to accept that. But the YMCA is here for me, thank you. And I am here at the Y so I can eat. More than eggs and whey protein powder. And not so I can win a contest by bench-pressing 300 lbs. Just why.
* Note on avacado toast : I have deep feelings for Avacados. While I’m passionate about good guacamole, spreading it onto toast is like spreading anything else onto bread that has been DRIED OUT in the toaster. We’ve been spreading jams and jellies, almond butter and cheese on baked grains for centuries now. It’s wet stuff on dry bread. It’s good, agreed. But relax about getting orgasmic over it, please. Quit taking pictures of your green toast and posting it. That’s private. Have some class.