I joined a new gym a couple of weeks ago. It was time. When I was in high school I read an article in one of those Cosmo-type of magazines that garnished the hair dryer at the salon. The article mentioned if you could pinch an inch of your skin that you were a fat ass (in not so many words). I pinched and it hurt.
If you know me the next few paragraphs won’t be surprising, but for those of you that don’t then I’ll just tell you straight away – I’m like Ben Stiller in a gym.
I stepped on the brand new core elliptical machine beside a man in his mid-fifties. The uber high tech piece of machinery wasn’t easy to start up, but after ten or so minutes the gray-haired gentleman showed me how to begin. For the life of me I couldn’t mimic his forward movement and after a few clumsy attempts, I succumbed to the backward movement my body naturally made. Finally, some progress.
Okay, now music. I’ll let you in on a little secret and I’m not proud of this but I listen to what your worst-nightmare of a teenager listens to – angry, loud, Marilyn Manson-hate-the-world type of music to get me worked up to work out. I blast it to the point of eardrum abuse, and for some strange reason Marilyn Manson was whispering. I didn’t get it until the old man to my left and the red-faced obese woman to my right, who was pacing much faster than me, shot me looks of disdain – yikes, Marilyn may have been whispering to me but he was yelling at them!
A bit of advice: check to make sure the headphones/earbuds are firmly connected to whatever music device you have before blasting it, or you may very well be associated to Marilyn Manson every time you go to the gym.
I had a middle aged man showing me up on my left and a morbidly obese woman showing me up to my right. How on earth was this possible? I’m an average weight, height, health, early thirties woman that should be able to run laps around these two, but here THEY were giving ME a complex. Oh the irony.
Once I was acclimated to the machine and sweating like an out-of-shape buffoon, it was time to wet my whistle. I don’t know how non-clumsy people do it, but drinking while exercising is damn near impossible to the equilibrium challenged and typically causes you to slip off the machine altogether. My best advice, drink after.
So finally I’m in the ‘cool down’ period of the workout on the cardio Goliath, and not only did I get through it but I survived so it’s a huge feat. Time to wipe down the equipment, which I did with an accomplished smile. I just love how most places, at least in the NYC metro area, have picked up the sanitary practice of placing hand sanitizer dispensers everywhere. Put a little in my hand and then I’m reminded of the sore on my finger!
“OUCH!” I yelled to a packed gym.
It might be my time – the gym could kill me.