Tuesday, March 18, 2008

 

The Gym

Feeling like a total porker back in November, I decided to join the newly opened gym by my work metro stop. The place is expensive, but I have to walk by it every day, twice a day. It's also pretty luxe...and I know lazy, gym-hating, me. In order for me to go to a gym, there needs to be a pretty big carrot (other than healthier lifestyle, living longer, and looking better).

The beginning, like most relationships, kicked off beautifully. Everything smelled new, from the freshly painted walls to the newly stained floorboards. The towels were pristine white and soft. There were more than enough treadmills to go around, all tricked out with DirectTV. The locker room, while awkward for a newbie, was roomy enough. And it comes with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in each stall. They play classical music over the speakers, and provide hair dryers, and lotion. Also, they have bottles of hairspray and deodorant (which I've fucked up more than a few times, actually. And yes, "fucked up" - putting hairspray in one's armpit deserves such a strong designation, I think).

As the weeks rolled on, more and more people joined. What was once an endearing ragtag bunch became a crew of sleek workout hotties, wearing color-coordinated shirts and shorts, and actually wearing socks that matched the other. They took over the locker room, prancing around in little more than thongs, blocking the lockers. Like, WTF?

Two of my favorites: the woman who sat naked on a locker room bench reading a magazine, and the girl who curls her hair while topless. Not even a bra. It doesn't make sense to me. I can maybe, maybe understand being shirtless. But no bra? It's asking for a burn, right?

Also, those once-fluffy towels? Not so much anymore. And a couple of weeks ago I realized that whatever they use to bleach the shit out of them reddens and slightly burns my face. And I have to rush from work to sign up for a treadmill...luckily the sleek hotties seem to work until 6. And the boys? The male-female ratio is about equal, but it's not even, if you get my drift.

And I've spent more money on workout clothes the past three months than on...fun clothes. I tried running pants, but they get too hot. Shorts ride up. Spandex is TOO intimate. And though I love my jogging skirts, the shortie leggings underneath do some weird things and distract me from my goal of not falling off the treadmill. But don't fret if you're in a similar quandary: last week I bought some uber-dorky long female basketball shorts, and tonight they performed their function perfectly.

So, needless to say, the bloom is off the rose. But, Victory. I still go. And today, for the first time EVER IN MY LIFE, I ran 4 miles. I know that's nothing to a lot of people (like...you, Cam. And you, J.C., and anyone else athletically inclined), but it was awesome to hit that mark tonight. It feels so good to do something that I didn't think I'd be able to do.

Due to my abominable diet (hiii, homemade brownie in my left hand), I haven't lost any weight. But that's okay. That's not the point of all this, I don't think.

On a sidenote, today while running I listened to an NPR podcast about a guy who had a lobotomy when he was 12. His life is something out of a Disney movie: his evil stepmother hated him and wanted to turn him into a vegetable, so she had the operation done. It didn't work, so then she put him in foster care. What a witch. My favorite part is when he interviews his dad about the whole thing, and how his dad reacts....the podcast/story can be found here: Tragic Stories of the 10-Minute Lobotomy. If you're going to be commuting to work and need something to listen to, definitely give this a try!

Comments:
Meg!
Spandex = AWESOME!
The little running skirts=fantastic...

And I hear if you do enough crunches on the ab machine just right you'll get the most amazing... O my goodnes I can't believe I just told you that!
 
uh oh buster...are you...implying...that I should work on my abs?!
 
I salute you for working out. It's something I need to do.
 
putting hairspray in one's armpit deserves such a strong designation, I think).

ROFL

Yeah, I'd say that deserves a bit more oomph.
 
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