Halloween has come and gone but the remnants of too many “fun size” chocolate bars made me do something on the spur of the moment yesterday. I got up all my courage and went to check out one of those co-ed mega-gyms. It is time to do something about your weight when you take off your jeans and there is a perfect impression of the waistband, the zipper placket and the pockets on your abdomen.
I was nervous about walking in, but I must have been the most beautiful girl in the place, because 3 really cute buff guys fought to have me sit down with them and chat. Hey, ladies, in case you think that there is nothing better than being “carded” for liquor when you are over 45, I can tell you that there is. To walk into a gym and have a guy who looks like Fabio ask you why you are there is pure bliss. I should have said, “because my ass is as big as Texas and if I don’t lose some weight the only thing I will have to wear is my car cover”, but I demurely answered that I was looking to get into better shape to have more energy. It sounded so convincing that I almost added something about an interest in marathon running for good measure, but I was afraid I still smelled like chocolate and he would know I was a fake.
So I signed on the dotted line and went to put on my “workout clothes”. I wasn’t playing. I decided that if I was going to do this, I was going to start today. I then met back with my muscle man for a tour and orientation. He was really nice, but men usually are after you give them a big check.
Tell me this, what is up with everyone else? No one is friendly in those places! There is an aloof attitude that I just can’t explain. I don’t know if it’s the sweat or too much Lycra constricting their brains, but I can tell you that no one was very cordial.
After my fitness god left to pursue another chubby prospect, I decided to try to program one of the machines and get going. The problem is, I wear glasses, but foolishly left them in my locker thinking I probably wouldn’t be doing any embroidery or beadwork while I was there. I couldn’t figure out the digital commands on my machine, so I asked the fellow next to me. You would have thought I asked him to sacrifice 50 –yard line seats at the Super Bowl to help me for 2 minutes. He grunted and groaned and basically set my treadmill at cheetah level when I am clearly just a notch over turtle speed. Well, I DID finally see one of those workout freaks laugh. He was quite amused.
I was actually pretty lost as to what to do, so I just copied others and pretended that I knew what I was doing. Working out is not intuitive to me. I was never into sports except for ice skating when I was young and I was drawn to that sport because the outfits were the cutest. Luckily, one of the trainers took pity on me and showed me around the machines. After an hour, I felt pretty accomplished. I came, I sweated, I conquered! I felt proud.
Well, I survived my workout, showered in some sort of tiled phone booth, put my “civilian” clothes on and headed towards the front door.
Just as I was about to leave, Mr. “Fabio” gave me a wave and said, “See you next time”.
Next time? You mean you have to do this more than once?
This will never catch on...
