photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

I’ve started going to the gym.  Award please.

Since I’ve been sick I haven’t been able to work out.  Best.  Excuse.  Ever.

Now that I’m feeling better, I have no reason to let my gym membership go unused (a.k.a. my fat tax).  I hit the gym this weekend with my husband, who is a total gym rat.  Being married to a guy with zero body fat is hard enough, but going to the gym with him is even worse.

Walking into the gym we were greeted by several regulars, all of whom said hello to him.  When their attention shifted to me, I saw pity in their eyes, but I could tell they were giving me a supportive “good for you” glance as well.

I approached the dreaded elliptical machine with hatred in my eyes and pre-emptive soreness in my thighs.  I knew that machine was going to beat up on me and I was hesitant to let the torture begin.

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

I mounted the machine and slowly moved my feet.  “Pedal faster!” it immediately shouted at me.  Okay, it didn’t shout it, but the exclamation point said it all.

It was calling me out on my half-assed attempt at exercise.  (Which is funny, because I certainly have more than half an ass.)

I don’t respond well to peer pressure, but I knew the machine wouldn’t register the calories I would burn if I continued at that pace, and I wanted to burn a few calories so I could eat the Sweet Tarts I had at home.  So I stepped it up.  Literally.

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

Immediately I realized I hated working out and wanted to stop.  Why do people do this to themselves?

I looked over at my husband running on the treadmill.  He looked like a goddamned gazelle.

I pushed on, thinking about my beloved Sweet Tarts and how I was going to spend some quality time with them when I got home.  I thought that would get me through the work out.

It didn’t.

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

I hid the timer with a towel, as I didn’t want to watch the seconds tick away slowly.  I also wanted my towel close by.

I was already getting winded and I had barely pedaled faster, as per the machine’s instructions.

Soon I began sweating and my breath was labored.  I knew I was almost done with my 30 minutes but I couldn’t resist the urge to look at the timer.

It had been 2 minutes and 53 seconds.  Seriously?!

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

How did people do this on a regular basis?  How was my husband flying through the air without so much as a drop of sweat?

The only solace I took was seeing my favorite gym-goer.  He’s an old man who wears a lifting belt no matter what exercise he does.  The best part?  He uses the weight machines, hence, no need for the weight belt.

He looked at me and smiled and then gave me a thumbs up.  I have no idea what that meant, but I can only assume he farted and his thumbs up was to show he felt better.  That guy is one gassy beast, so I feel confident saying that’s the reason.

Somehow I managed to finish my workout on Beatrice, which is what I named that dreadful machine.  Beatrice was less than kind to me and yelled at me to “speed up!’ more than once.  She was a fricking drill sergeant.

I stepped off Beatrice and wiped her down, even though she deserved to wallow in my sweat.  I stumbled getting off of her but was careful not to fall face-first into her evil twin sister, Bertha who was standing next to her.  She looked equally as menacing as Beatrice and not at all forgiving.  I knew they were going to talk about me when I left.

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

photo credit: ShellyS via photopin cc

I headed to the door with my husband, proud I completed the workout, but mad I sweated enough to necessitate a shower.

‘”See you tomorrow!”  my husband said to the woman at the front desk as we left.  Um, what?  Tomorrow? I didn’t care if I never saw Beatrice again.  Apparently I was going to have to endure her screaming the following day.

One thing was for certain.  I was going to need another roll of Sweet Tarts if this gym thing was going to continue.

return to the gym

 

9 Thoughts on “Return to the gym…again

  1. Monica on March 18, 2014 at 11:29 pm said:

    I used to go to Taco Bell on my way home from the gym. I couldn’t help that it was on the way, of course I had to go the ultra long, back way to get there. And as I read this blog I am eating my way through a bag of Doritos, but does reading about your hard work make me want to start going to the gym again or make me feel guilty that my hand in now orange?…No, and I have accepted that.

    • Honestly, knowing you were eating Doritos and thinking of Taco Bell while reading my blog brings me so much joy. Of course you should go to Taco Bell after working out. You’re just taking a pro-active approach and burning off calories before you eat them. You should really be commended.

  2. I go for long, sweaty walks with my girlfriend, followed my an ice cold martini! I say do whatever works.

    • I wish I had someone to walk with. I take the dogs but I get super bored. Matt goes with me sometimes but I live with that guy, so it isn’t that exciting.

      I need to come out for a weekend and we can take sweaty walks and then drink martinis! Maybe when things slow down for you.

  3. I empathize — I hate gyms with a passion. And anything that requires running, jogging or climbing always leaves me out of breath in less than 2 minutes so you’re definitely in better shape than me.

    Now I’m trying out a rowing machine. I like this mucher better than those damn treadmills and ellipticals. Not sure if you have those at your gym but check them out.
    Suzanne Lucas just rambled about…The Art of Eating Spaghetti… And Avoiding  LaundryMy Profile

  4. You can totally take Beatrice. She’s kind of a bitch, but once you get going, she totally caves and lets you stomp all over her. You’ve got this.
    Emelie just rambled about…Graphic User Interfaces for Life.My Profile

  5. First of all, I just saw your 20’s v. 30’s phrases, what a tantrum looks like, the hidden side of couch diagram, how to tell if you need a bra, and the chances of getting flowers on vday posts on nick mom. HAHAHA! WHOA THOSE WERE HILARIOUS! See- I want to be funny like you. Naming my gym equipment and getting my sweet tart on. I bet you’re a fab attorney!
    Rebecca just rambled about…Being Funny Hurts So GoodMy Profile

    • That’s awesome you saw my stuff! I love writing for NickMom because it’s totally my humor and they get me. People either get my humor or they think I’m crazy.

      Actually, I suspect they think I’m crazy regardless of if they get my humor. They’re probably right.

      So glad you enjoy my stuff! I can’t tell you how much that means to me. 🙂

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