When I think about my health, I usually associate myself with the average American male. In other words, I obsess over what I look like, but I’m generally too lazy to ever do anything about it.

And yet every so often I persuade myself to get back in shape, in hopes of finally achieving a six-pack. This persuasion works great for about a week. Then slowly but surely, I begin to make excuses for skipping trips to the gym and staying home. Usually they follow along the lines of “I’ll just go tomorrow,” or “I can probably just burn enough caloraies taking a nap.”

So as you can imagine, I’ve been to the gym a lot. High school gyms, neighborhood gyms, college gyms, gym class. At this point my nasal system has become numb to the smell of sweat and bodily odors.

Nonetheless, with all of these visits to the kingdom of pain, it wasn’t until I began my latest stint at the IMA that I truly began to appreciate the futility and bizarre behavior that entails a good ol’ workout.

Ironically, it starts before I even enter the building. Every time I approach the front entrance, I have a tendency to stop in front of the giant windows and gaze back at the treadmill and elliptical users, wondering whether or not they realize they’re running in place.

And I thought running in a circle was ridiculous.

Sooner or later I make my way into the locker room, and that’s just an amazing experience overall. Let me start off by saying that if it isn’t already, a men’s locker room should be the subject of hundreds of sociological experiments and studies, because the rules that one must follow in a men’s locker room are almost as complex as the “Bathroom Stall Philosophy.”

Primarily, the moment you enter a locker room, you are to keep your eyes at face level and always forward. You never look in any other direction, except that of a mirror in order to check yourself out. If you spot a naked man coming toward you in your peripherals, you are to look in the opposite direction and think about diesel trucks filled with beer and naked women.

Furthermore, were you to come into conversation with any male, you are allowed to only discuss matters of utmost importance, such as how much you’re benching or what’s in the latest issue of Men’s Health. Any conversation containing the words “cuddling,” “relationships” or Better Home and Garden are strictly forbidden.

Once I have made my escape from the locker room, and hopefully with my sanity still intact, I choose my method of torture, by which I mean exercise. Obviously I could go swim, play tennis, shoot some hoops, but since I’m looking to be discouraged from ever coming back, I go to the one place where this is most feasible: the weight room.

The first thing you’re going to notice in any weight room is that you’re a lot fatter than you thought. Having to watch people who could easily throw you across the room strut around in sleeve-torn t-shirts is neither cheerful nor a confidence-booster. I personally have the urge to turn around and walk calmly back to the locker room. Instead, I fight this notion by thinking that at one point in time they were just like me.

Except in their case, it was before they reached puberty.

After you get over the initial panic, its time to pump some iron. While you’re lifting weights, it’s safe to assume that you will fall under one of two types of weight lifters. The first type, and probably one you’ll never reach, is “The Alpha Male.” These are the guys who love to watch themselves while they lift. You know, the ones who will turn their heads to the side or position their body in a certain way so they can literally watch their muscles grow.

If you haven’t lifted long enough to appreciate how amazing you look in a mirror, then you would fall under the other category, “The On-lookers.” These are the people who watch the Alpha Males and try to manipulate their movements, only to embarrass themselves and never return again.

Once you’ve been demoralized enough, it’s time to return to the locker room and clean yourself up. Take a shower and wash away that confidence, all the while keeping your eyes completely forward or closed. Don’t forget to plague your mind with the thought that everyone’s been staring at you and laughing.

When that’s all said and done, you walk the whole way back to where you live. I always make sure to have my “Don’t Give Up” playlist ready on my iPod in order to block the negative thoughts from entering. Because I know I’ll be back. Sooner or later.

Reach columnist Eric Uthus at opinion@thedaily.washington.edu.