It’s 7 PM on a Thursday night. There are no classes tomorrow, and my plan for the night is to stay in the dorm and watch a gazillion YouTube videos until 3 AM. Halfway through the 16th video, however, I notice the New Year’s Resolution pasted onto my bed frame.

“Work out more this year!!”

An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over me as I, someone who even wrote an article on how to stick to New Year’s Resolutions, realize that I have already failed my resolution. I literally have a gym in my dorm just four floors below, and yet that place is foreign to me.

This is stage one: guilt.

There are a myriad of causes for this guilt. I feel guilty about the fact that I have not gone to the gym even a single time this year. Guilty about how I have so many workout T-shirts that are never able to serve its original purpose but instead, serves as my pajamas as I go through my routine of sleeping and eating. Only once this guilt becomes unbearable would I then move on to the next stage.

Stage two: motivation.

Slightly disgusted by my own laziness, I would dig out those workout clothes and change into them. I fill up my water bottle, and get everything ready to go downstairs. Today is the day to renew those resolutions and actually follow through with them.

Stage three: hesitation.

Once everything is ready, the voice inside my head would always make me doubt what I was about to do. Do I really want to endure physical pain for half an hour instead of being comfortable in my dorm? Workout clothes are so comfortable for lounging, why dirty it at a gym? For a second, I’m tempted to sit back into that chair and continue YouTube browsing, but I push through.

Stage four: fear.

This stage comes up about halfway to the gym. Having been to the gym fewer times than I can count on one hand in the past school year, the gym is like a giant jungle of buff and fit humans who have their lives together. What if there are no more stair climbing machines? What if all the treadmills are taken? I don’t even know how to use anything else. These thoughts race through my head until I reach the gym and find an unoccupied stairmaster.

Stage five: regret.

A few minutes into the workout, I start to hate myself. This was so much pain, so sweaty, and so uncomfortable. Everyone around me seemed to do their workouts with ease, switching positions every once in a while to use different muscles in their legs that I didn’t even know existed. Working out was a terrible idea, and I just want to go back to my dorm.

Stage six: acceptance.

After surviving the first few minutes (which definitely felt like a few eons), I accept what I have chosen to do to myself. I’m here already and it’s too late to give up, so might as well stick through it and finish the workout. In fact, rewatching “Friends” while exercising can temporarily alleviate the pain that my body is in. This isn’t ABSOLUTELY terrible.

Stage seven: rejuvenation.

When I actually finish the workout (a rare occasion), I feel tired, but I feel good. It feels as if I had been revived and rebirthed into a completely new person. My body is a temple and I vow to actually start exercising regularly from now on. My New Year’s resolutions are restarting today, and they will bring great rewards.

Then the soreness hits.

Walking to class is painful, standing up is painful, laughing is painful, everything is painful. Unfortunately, the rejuvenation stage is cut short, and I jump straight back into stage zero and start building up that guilt all over again. So much for a healthier year.