I've come to face the fact that I have an addiction.

I'm addicted to not going to the gym.

Granted, this is infinitely less harmful than most addictions, it's still a pretty serious problem. Any delusions I had about being energetic and physically fit have washed away as, time after time, I find reasons not to go to the gym.

For weeks I'd been fooling myself. "Hey!" I'd say, "I can stop not going to the gym whenever I want! I don't 'need' to not go to the gym."

But as the weeks went on, I invented lame excuses like, "I've got bad gas today," or "I just forgot... that my gym bag was sitting in the car seat next to me."

The gym bag itself became a kind of string around my finger. Every time I saw it, I thought, "Oh yea, Scrubs is on tonight!"

Even when I manage to go to the gym, all I can think about is being at home doing something else. At its worst, the feeling leaves me angry and sad, curled up on the ab bench, mumbling things like, "Daddy needs his medicine!"

It would seem, even after months of regular three-day-a-week gym attendance when I first joined, that I don't feel the same about exercise as everyone else. I've never tapped into that feeling of accomplishment or that "Runner's High." It's as if there was a terrible endorphin accident in my body that left no survivors. All that's left are the chemicals that make me crave chocolate and television.

But my resolve, what little there is, has not failed. I will not quit the gym and I will not stop bringing my gym bag to work two to three days a week. I will keep telling myself to go, and I will keep feeling guilty if I don't. I won't give up, for the sake of my personal betterment...or for the cute girls in short shorts on the cardio trainer.