As if it wasn't shameful enough to not be able to lift the weights, I instantly noticed that his package was fairly substantial. I still hadn't said anything, I just lie there, breathing rapidly, my gaze intently focused on the gap in his shorts where his penis and testicles dangled, just an inch from my face. I was looking right up the leg of his shorts as he stood over the weight bench - he wasn't wearing any underwear and I was staring right at his cock! He moved half a step forward, possibly to get leverage as he returned the weights to the cradle. I looked at the weights he'd just lifted off of me. I went to say something but was still shocked by the accident. I heard the sound of dumbbells clattering to the floor, and, in an instant, the older man was at the head of the bench, hovering over me, lifting the barbell off of me like it was nothing. "Shit," I thought to myself, "people die this way!" I struggled with the bar, grunting as I kept it off of my windpipe. I struggled to return the barbell to the cradle - it slipped and it was all I could do to keep it from crashing down on me. The problem was that I could only do three - or, as it turns out, two and a half. I told myself I'd do five reps and move on. They were heavy, but I was too proud to chicken out. There was a barbell setup waiting there, so I just lay on the bench and picked up the weights without checking them. A little shamed, I decided to switch to the weight bench. I thought I detected a bit of a smirk when he saw the 5-pounders I was using, but I could have been imagining things. With a curt but polite nod to me, he picked up a pair of 30-pounders and casually started to warm up. His simple red shorts and a tan t-shirt set a confident tone of someone who didn't try to dress up for the gym. He was an older man, late fifties, maybe 60, a shock of close-cut greying reddish hair, and a fit, but not overdeveloped body. Just as I was considering moving on to an exercise machine of some type, a man walked into the weight room. No one was there to witness my weakness and embarrassment. After about three curls, I switched to 5-pouders. After changing into my workout clothes, I went back to the free-weights room, picked up a couple of 10-pounders, and tried to do a few curls, just to stretch and ease myself into some kind of exercise.
A couple of middle aged women were plodding along slowly on the treadmills, doing more chatting than sweating as the TV over their heads played one of those endless celebrity shows. Much to my relief, the place was clean, well-lighted and cooled, and, most importantly, not crowded.
I was already paying for it, might as well give it a try. When school started up I figured that at least the youth crowd would be gone and I could start using the community gym in the building I lived at. One thing led to another and over half of the year had gone by. This is how I got to be so out of shape in the first place.
Procrastination being one of the things I'm good at, I put it off.
I did manage to convince myself not to start with the typical "New Year's Resolution" on January 1st - everyone did that and the gyms were always full - the fastest way for me to give up early. Like damn near every year, THIS was going to be the year I got in better shape.