I stood awkwardly next to the entrance of the basement gym in Mabee Hall, observing various football hunks lifting loads the size of my dorm room and volleyball girls doing inconceivably complex exercises, feeling more and more inadequate as I surveyed the scene.

The seconds passed in the classic slow motion Hollywood style as I pondered my spur of the moment decision to join the athletic folk in their native environment.

To my inexperienced senses, the sights and sounds of the weight room remarkably resembled those of a 15th-century torture chamber. I felt a desperate need to escape, but I had promised my friend that I would accompany her for a quick workout session.

So I was stuck.

In a weight room.

With lots of sweaty people.

As a self-described couch/bed/hammock potato, I had absolutely no clue that by agreeing to work out, I had just signed myself up for a healthy dose of pain and humiliation.

After my first failed attempt on a scary metal something or other, I felt more stupid than when I found out that the chorus of the song “Jai Ho” was not, in fact, ‘dry hump.’

I’m not sure whether my face was red because of the humidity, the exertion or the pure embarrassment.

A day later, muscles I didn’t know I had ached in such an extreme manner that it is driving me completely and utterly bonkers.

For the next 24 hours, I was walking, talking, and sleeping like I had a very large and awkwardly shaped object shoved up my bum.

I resorted to popping pills and assuming the fetal position.

It’s pathetic, it’s ridiculous and sadly, it’s true.

I have heard the mantras. Pain is gain.

Feel the burn.

It hurts sooooo good.

But I have a new catch phrase to throw out there. To quote the ever-so-wise Ellen DeGeneres, “I really don’t think I need buns of steel. I’d be happy with buns of cinnamon.”

I don’t need to look like a well-toned athlete or an airbrushed version of Heidi Klum.

I’m happy without that daily dose of protein shakes and endorphins.

I understand that to stay healthy, exercise is recommended, maybe even required.

And I understand that since I only eat vegetables on a monthly basis, I should probably do a little more of said exercise.

However, I am content to limit my working out to daily jaunts across campus for classes. <br/>After all, if there's no pain, well, there's no pain.After all, if there's no pain, well, there's no pain.
After all, if there’s no pain, well, there’s no pain.

So here’s to eating chocolate without remorse, and spending my life visiting more places than the inside of a weight room.

And working hard to develop my buns of cinnamon.<br/>