The gym - Today I mulled going to the gym. At one point I was half way to my bedroom to change ... but it never happened. So now I can't say "I went to the gym on Sunday". Ah; the gym ... how I hate social expectations around the gym, even more than I hate the unimaginative spaces we use to "work out".

In university I worked out about four times a week and was on two varsity teams. I loved my spin classes and step aerobics, the high of pushing myself and learning what I could and couldn't do. I was in the best physical shape of my life and have the photo's to prove it. But I have been to the gym about three times since moving to Ottawa. I did try and join an all woman's gym soon after I arrived, but everything about it just nauseated me. I felt that working out lost it purity and turned into a commercial machine, I became another cog. As soon as I step into a gym all individuality is sucked out of me and that I doing what society expects me to do - not necessarily what is right for me, and I am try to conform to what we currently believe we should look like.

Despite the fact I have avoided these institutions and was incapacitated for several months due to an injury that might have included a broken bone, I believe that I am in better shape than the average Canadian. I bike to work or walk home, I do lots of yoga, I hike, snowshoe, skate and of course snowboard. Sure; I don't have "Shakira-Arms" like my little sister, but she is a size 4 and lets face it - short medical procedures, I am never going to a size 4.

My sister once joked that she could make a bundle harnessing the energy people produced while people run on a treadmill, Elliptical-machines, erg-machines, and stationary bikes. Beyond generating electricity, everything about the gym culture seems to be designed to re-enforce a consumer culture: special gym bags, shoes, socks and shorts, quick-dry tops, headbands, heart-rate monitors, personal music devices, a whole suite of tiny toiletries, plastic water bottles - metal water bottles, water supplements, quick-wick towels. What ever happened to running around the block, hopping on the bike or an ab-workout in your sitting room? Instead, on beautiful days we feel guilty about not going to the gym where we are just another hamster on a treadmill. And unlike the paths outside, our "path" is in a windowless room, with bad TV blaring and someone who "forgot" to wipe-down the machine on their way out.

My loathing of the gym has to be kept to myself, because like excessive work-hours, "going to the gym" is some kind of social badge people wear. Meet new people and work-out habits come into the conversation surprisingly fast, we love to talk about our trainer, the women who try and pick-up at the gym, and our opinion of GoodLife (spoiler alert: everyone hates GoodLife). Worth is now measured in how often you go to the gym - because looking great has to be a lot of work and you can only do it with the right gear. Sure, parts of the gym are really fun - but it has become overly scripted, controlled and sanitized, instead of the unexpected events on a sports field, one can almost set a clock on the rhythms of a gym.

Here is where I admit to being a hypocrite; as much as I am adamant that I hate gyms, I do belong to a gym again (I joined when it was 35C outside because they have an unused, out-door swimming pool!) So this winter I plan on going ... mainly to curb my baking habit (which some have said is out of control). I hope to  kick some boy-ass on the ski-hill this winter, strengthen my shoulder which is almost fully healed and because occasionally the right work-out can create quite the endorphin-high.

But if you ever hear me say "I went to the gym last night ..." you can kick me.