|They look happy, but they're miserable on the inside. I know it.|
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a hippy-dippy tree hugger who loves picnicking outside, hiking tall mountains, and swimming in fackingfreezing New Hampshire rivers. But when it comes to straight up exercising, I HATE doing the outdoors thing. Here's a list of reasons why I'll take the sweaty plastic smell of a gym over the great outdoors when all I want to do is get my jog on:
1. Cars and Trucks: Here's the deal. If there is no oncoming traffic and you can see from your car that I'm jogging/riding in a "biker lane" that's between 3 and 6 inches wide, MOVE OVER PLEASE. The yellow line isn't going to give you an electric shock if you cross it for three seconds, there is a steep embankment to my other side, and there are exactly zero vehicles coming at you. I've already jumped into a briar patch once to avoid being hit. I'd rather not do it again.
2. Commercial Trucks with 18+ Wheels: See above. Also, honking your air horn at me? Not appropriate. In fact, it scares the figurative poo out of me every time. The last thing I need is to have a heart attack a mile away from my home, thanks.
3. Dead Animals: I'm no track star, which means that I don't want to hurdle jump over the smelly piles of roadkill that the CT Department of Transportation has decided it's too cool to clean up. I've actually become desensitized to roadkill. Something has gone seriously wrong if I can pass by flat animals without tearing up.
4. Live Animals: Never again do I want to be chased across the street by an angry/reallyeffingfast pitbull-or-boxer-or-something-else-scary as I go through the center of town.
**Note: I was riding my bike for this incident. Had I been on foot, I probably would have lost an ankle. LEASH LAWS.
5. Hills: On a treadmill, I can control them and flatten them out at my own discretion. Unfortunately, my hometown is about as flat as Dolly Parton's chest. Up does not please me.
6. Sketchy Characters and Residences: Catcalling hooligans and skeevy "houses" with physically broken windows and socially broken residents give me the willies. This is the point at which I might hold my house key like a prison shank, just in case a snatcher appears.
The moral of the story is that even though spending money physically hurts me, I'll probably always shell out for a gym membership. Don't make the mistake of thinking that I love running on a treadmill or plodding/jogging/ellipting on an elliptical machine (there's really no appropriate verb). I just hate it less than running outside.
All I really want is to spend my days gallivanting in a meadow of flowers while eating PB&J sammies and enjoying a 6 year old's metabolism. COME BACK, YOUTH. COME BACK.