Apparently I'm a diva

At least when it comes to gyms.

I gave up my membership at the YMCA because the neighborhood was shady and I couldn't talk myself into running around their parking lot after dark.

Now I'm in need of a replacement.

I want:

Enough cardio equipment so I can workout at 6 or 7 at night and not have to wait for a machine.
A circuit room.
Parking under $8/pop (Which is what it costs at UCLA) or something within walking distance of my apartment.

That's it. I don't need a locker. Or a pool. Or a steam room.

Really, it's not a lot to ask, is it?

Apparently in LA it is.

Ugh.

I'm tempted to buy my own equipment, but then I don't get the benefit of weight training. Or room for visitors.

You lie.

I'm tired of the happy people on TV and in magazines who are thrilled about having lost a ton of weight. They talk about how good they feel, how fantastic an active lifestyle is, etc.. Ditto to the health experts that talk about exercise and endorphins.

My bullcrapometer goes wild when I encounter them.

You wanna know how working out everyday makes me feel? Like poo. Working out makes me tired, sore and more than slightly cranky.

It's not so bad when it's accidental exercise - like a day at the beach, battling the surf and running around in the sand with friends. But when I hop on a bike or a treadmill, I always end up wondering if it's really worth it.

If you can't tell, I've been working out like mad for the last couple of weeks. Ibuprophen has become part of my daily routine. Of course, the scale hasn't moved ...

Sigh.