Yesterday I returned to the most dreaded place on Earth. No, it wasn’t the return counter at Walmart, although the smell of body odor in that line rivals that of any high school locker room.
I returned to the gym. I wasn’t happy about it, but since I’ve recovered from the worst stomach flu ever, I decided it was time to get back to the gym.
Obviously I love torturing myself, but that’s a different blog for a different day, and several sessions of therapy with a licensed professional.
Because I hate the gym more than anything in the world (even more than PT Cruisers, which is really saying something), I knew I needed back up to go to the gym. I also needed company.
I can’t be expected to work out without gossiping. What’s the point in that? It would be like eating fries without ketchup, or drinking soda without liquor. Unacceptable.
So I called the one person I could count on who hates working out as much as I do…Downtown Christy Brown (not her real name).
DTCB started a new diet recently and she is dropping weight like I drop…well, like how I drop pretty much anything I hold.
She looks great and I secretly want to punch her in her ever slimming gut, but I refrain, because she’s one of my best friends, and I’m a really good friend that way.
So when I told her I wanted to return to the gym, she was happy to join me, probably because she wanted to show off her slim figure and show me up with her lack of love handles.
She said she would pick me up, which I figured was her way of ensuring I didn’t back out with an excuse of a strained hypothalamus or an overactive endocrine system.
DTCB is a smart girl, and she knows me very well.
She showed up at my house, perky as ever, and ready to get her sweat on. I wasn’t ready to go, as I was in denial about what I was about to do. It took me some time to locate my workout clothes, but I found them in the spare bedroom where they were insulating the windows there.
Yeah, I hope DTCB will pay my increased heating bill now that I have less insulation in that room. She clearly hates the environment.
I grabbed my water bottle and considered filling it with vodka, but didn’t want to be known as the drunk at the gym. Not just yet anyway. Those people would learn in time.
We headed out the door and I realized that DTCB was really just bluffing about her excitement for the gym. She didn’t want to go any more than I did.
It was at that moment I remembered why we were friends. It was our hatred of working out, and our love of The Carpenters.
DTCB pulled out of my driveway ever so slowly, and cruised down the street at a snail’s pace. I could tell she was waiting for me to tell her to turn around and take me back home, but my belly rolls reminded me I needed to go.
We arrived at the gym and drove around until we found a parking place close to the door. If we were going to work out when we got inside, we definitely didn’t want to overdo it in the parking lot.
We headed inside and went to the cardio machines, or as I like to call them, the torture chambers.
We looked at each other and tried to decide which machine to use to get our workout on. We looked around and saw two bikes next to each other that were available.
I looked at DTCB and she said “I don’t want to work out, but if we use the bikes, we can sit down.” Yet another reason we are lifelong friends.
That was some kind of torture we wanted no part of. We headed to the back of the room and found two elliptical machines next to each other.
We started using those machines and felt the burn in our legs as well. Was it too much to ask for a workout machine that didn’t hurt any of our body parts and didn’t increase our heart rate? This gym just didn’t know how to accommodate our needs.
We continued on the machines, as they were the only two machines next to each other, and we knew we couldn’t work out on our own. We noticed an in shape woman in front of us running on the treadmill.
She was tiny and adorable and we immediately hated her. We watched her bounce on the machine, blissfully unaware that two overweight chicks were behind her, cussing at her, sweating profusely, and cursing her perfectly toned calves.
Although we were miserable, we took comfort mocking her and her neon pink running shoes.
Seriously chick? You don’t get enough attention with your bronze tan in February and your fake boobs? You need neon shoes as well? Slam another power drink and get over yourself sister.
In addition to watching “that girl” at the gym rock it out on the treadmill, we also kept our eyes peeled for our personal trainer, Marbi (not his real name).
DTCB and I hadn’t been to the gym for a while, and we knew if Marbi saw us, he would want to know when we were coming back to training.
He would also want to know how I managed to gain another 10 pounds over the holidays, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with whatever excuse I concocted at the moment. We knew we needed to avoid him at all costs.
We finished our workouts without running into Marbi, so we headed to the weight machines to do weights. Cuz we’re overachievers and stuff. As soon as we walked into the weight area, we saw him.
Okay, I didn’t so much walk as shuffle my numb legs. He saw us and our eyes locked. I was busted and didn’t know how to handle it. So I did what any professional adult would have done in that situation. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.
We proceeded to the machines, knowing the weight of Marbi’s stare was upon us and the extra pounds from the pasta we ate the night before. We tried to use a few of the machines, but DTCB is not so good with mechanical things, and we ended up leaving because we were afraid she would break something and they would make us pay for it.
And if someone tries to use the oblique machine at our gym…it was DEFINITELY broken when we got to it…
We headed to her car, proud of ourselves for our workout. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe we could get back into working out regularly. We agreed to give it a try. We also agreed that “working out regularly” means once every two months.