Apologies for the use of a potentially offensive term. I mean it in the literal sense. Although I am guessing that if you are offended by the word “retard” you are probably offended by just about all my writing and probably aren’t reading this anyway…that means if you are still reading this you are totally inappropriate and we would probably be great friends.
So as part of Operation Be Healthier Than Mom I mentioned I am going the gym. I like my gym because it is literally across the street from my job so I can go during lunch and avoid eating out–two wins! I also like it because America’s Next Top Model wannabes do not work out there. It is a bunch of desk schmoes like me. Still, I am a very round mushy peg in a teeny toned hole.
Five indicators I don’t belong:
1) I sweat buckets. No one else seems to sweat at my gym except a couple really overweight dudes. I have very efficient pores, what can I say? I need a sweatband but I am not sure which is more embarrassing–a sweatband or dripping sweat. If this was the era of Flashdance, I’d be set.
2) I have giant boobs. Everytime I bend over while weightlifting it’s like a peep show bursting out of my sports bra. No one else has boobs at my gym. This is probably because they go more than three times a week.
3) The old ladies are in better shape than me. The gray hairs have better asses in their work out tights. It makes me cry a little inside.
4) Even though I work with a personal trainer once a week I still have no idea how to use gym equipment. I went to try the other day to do strength training in the weight room, which is a total sausage fest, and the bar on the thingy was missing. I looked for it, but then gave up. I also totally blanked on any exercises I have done with the free weights.
5) I can’t shower at a gym. It would take me too long to shower and reapply my make up and dry my damn hair. I just blow dry the sweat and touch up and go and it still takes me an hour and fifteen minutes to workout and disassemble and reassemble myself.
Do you ever go to a place where you just know you don’t belong? Do you pay to go there? I have a running joke in my family–I am an academic, not an athlete. Sheesh.