Our membership is almost up. Brock has used it a lot- and other than that weird hot tub rash that developed, he loves it there. I fully support anything that has to do with my husband potentially looking like Hugh Jackman. "Hey honey, I'll hold your towel...."
|My third husband. He just doesn't know it yet.|
I have gone a grand total of THREE times, yet I work out about 5 days a week.... let's retrace my steps:
Time 1: Yoga with Old People.
|I hear it helps with the Bursitis.....|
That wasn't the official title of the class but it should have been. I almost kept pace with the 70 year old dude behind me, because I'm that awesome.
The thing is, the class wasn't heated. Now, I don't need, nor do I desire to be in a 100+ degree room, but I like it warm enough (90ish) that I am flexible and sweat out the toxins. My underused muscles may have been trembling from the exertion of holding my own body weight, but not a pore was secreting, and dammit! I need some secretion to feel like I got a work out!
Time 2: Miss Priss doesn't want to mess up her makeup.
|I'm sure she's a perfectly lovely person, but in|
no way do I want to see her at my gym.
You know when you go to the gym and you are in the middle of your workout, drenched in sweat, your face is red and your chest is blotchy and you spy that girly girl all dressed in pink, with perfect hair and makeup, barely moving on the treadmill? You kind of want to punch her in her cute little unsweaty throat and then you look around and you notice that all of the men at the gym are looking at her too, but with much less disdain and much more...um... not disdain?
I loathe that girl. If you are at the gym to work out, THEN WORK OUT. If you want to get all cute to attract the opposite sex, GO TO THE BAR AND GET HAMMERED WITH THE REST OF US. Well, in an unfortunate turn of events, I accidentally was that girl.
It was a Sunday and we were headed home from church, and the gym is on our way home. So we pulled in and decided to take advantage of their childcare for the Things.
(Warning Flag number 1: It smelled bad in there. Really bad. Like stale goldfish, dirty socks, air that had been trapped indoors for too long and poo; not unlike the smell of public transit.)
I was in my full church regalia: my hair was fixed as close to perfect as my hair gets and my face was made up just the way I learned at all of those Mary Kay parties of my youth. Then I changed into my gym clothes (I happened to have stuffed my Ms. Wag the Dad 2012 tank into the bag that day) and mosied on up to the cardio area, where the overuse of fluorescent lights gave me a post traumatic stress disorder-like flashback to all of those unfortunate occasions where I have shopped at Wal-Mart under their harsh and often flickering fluorescent lighting. So I responded in a way that is very natural to me when faced with an undesirable lighting situation: I held me head high, avoided nudity and full length mirrors, and I did my best not to black out.
My pathetic workout included my hanging onto the treadmill the entire time, with the focus on "Please keep yourself upright and don't go flying backwards off this thing..." Engage in cardio for 20 minutes? Sort of. Break a sweat? Nope. No one could tell that I was going to faint from the stupid lights though, so I just looked liked some prissy bitch who apparently won a pageant and put full make-up on her head to go to the gym and fake a work out. I surprised that I wasn't assaulted by a group of angry, sweaty women.
The valuable part of the session was that I was on the machine in front of my husband and I am fairly confident that he was using my ass as a focal point or for something to chase (it was either mine or the dude next to me, so I was feeling pretty confident that it was indeed mine in his focus.)
Next we hit the circuit weights, which was lit less abhorrently, but it did contain the token meat head that was lifting as much weight and humanly possibly and screaming, grunting and apparently birthing a child without the aid of drugs, whilst doing it. It was magical.
Then Brock and I met at the hot tub. Mind you, I still had a face full of church makeup. I also was wearing my swimsuit that I found after writing my swimsuit post. It is all padding here and spanx there and actually fools the eye into making me look pretty decent. Never mind that once it is wet, it is like removing a women's size 2 wetsuit from a hairy man the size of Chris Farley. I seriously think part of the slimming effect is that it removes your actual skin when you remove it from your body. Somehow, I arrived before Brock and a nice man moved over to let me sit next to him. He started the small talk, "I'll let you have this jet. It is the best one in here...." I said "Thank you. I need a strong jet.... Oh, it is great. It feels like a bunch of tiny people are kicking me in the back."
Once I'm comfortable, he then moved on to bait his prey, you can't blame him as I looked like I was there to be hit on by lonely men in the hottub, "So how long how you been working out here?"
I said, "Let's see.... this is my second time."
He said, "Where did you work out before?"
I responded with, "Nowhere. I just naturally look this great."
Thank God Brock walked up at the moment, because I was clearly taking the conversation downhill.
Time 3: Did I unknowingly walk into an arcade?
|I don't even own a Wii Fit because I fear the|
severity of shame and defeat that it would
inflict upon me.... in the privacy of my own home.
The kids were plopped back in the daycare that smells like the toilet of an airplane and I walked a little more confidently up to the cardio center. I headed towards the windows, thinking that being seated on a the stationary bike by the natural light might help with the dizziness. I got on the bike and it was confusing me by forcing me to enter codes and shit. Once I sort of figured that part out, the screen popped up but to my dismay, was not playing a rerun of Desperate Housewives as I had hoped for, but instead it was a video game screen where you choose your course. Okaaaayyyy, so I picked a course by the ocean, because that seemed soothing, and all of a sudden I was pushed into a mothereffing race where I had to steer my bike so that I didn't careen over a cliff. Look people, if I wanted the added stress of potentially crashing, I would have ridden a real bicycle OUTSIDE in traffic. But I'll be damned if I'm a quitter, so I finished the course and in doing so, raised my stress level about four notches.
Time 4: There was no time 4 because in a surprising turn of events, my children both ended up sick and then, naturally, I contracted it as well. It is still a mystery to me where ever they picked it up.....
So my membership is almost over and I have concluded that I work out just fine at home, on my own treadmill under the incandescent lighting, near the window that opens, with my DVRed episodes of Castle and Modern Family and the children playing in the adjacent room.
No gym for me. Not at this juncture.
Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi, Your Miss Wag the Dad 2012 *queen wave*