Wednesday, November 07, 2007
I Love My Gym
I missed my gym while I was away from home. I'm addicted to that endorphin rush that 40 minutes on the elliptical machine gives me. I love going and doing my stretches, crunches and girl-style push-ups. I didn't go to the gym for almost two weeks while I was sick with a cold recently. When I returned to the gym, my regular workout was too hard. I had to do an easier version of all my usual stuff. Today I was back at full capacity. Happy brain chemicals abound!
I love my gym because it's only for the ladies. No stinky boys allowed. One of the gym employees went through all the weight lifting machines and drew long hair and eyelashes on all of the pictures that highlight which muscle group each machine targets. I find that charming, even if the pictures now look a little like well-muscled drag queens.
At my gym, there are two televisions mounted on the wall in view of all the aerobic machines. There's always a soap opera, Oprah, Rachel Ray or Ellen on to watch. No stupid boy shows. There are oscillating fans every four feet at my gym. Most of the ladies who go there are menopause age or older, and those fans probably help with the hot flashes. On a summer day, I make sure I'm in the direct line of airflow of at least two of those fans.
Whenever a man has to enter the club, the receptionist gets on the intercom system and lets all the ladies know which area of the club the "gentleman" will be in. All the gym members know that "gentleman" is really codeword for stinky, hairy, potentially-leering man.
I also love the convenient location of my gym. It shares a parking lot with my favorite HEB grocery store and a post office. It is a mere four miles from my house.
Most of all, I love stepping on the scales at my gym. I've lost twenty-one pounds now. I have thirteen pounds more to lose. I have this picture of myself in my head that is still the same weight I was in college, which is also my goal weight. I get glimpses of that me in the mirrored walls of the gym while I'm exercising. I think, "oh good. I'm almost there." However, I cringe when I see recent photos of myself, because I think I still look F-A-T. It's harder to see the progress in a flattened image with poor lighting. I think my new rule is that only professional photographers armed with light meters are allowed to take my photo.