Gymolutions

“Gymolution” – the New Years’ resolution to go to the gym.

Today I joined the gym. Oh, dear God, I joined the gym. And it was not the best experience, which makes it that much more awful.

I know I need to move my body. I need to eat better. I need to loose about 20 pounds. Again. So, I decided that, since I have some free time (and it will get me out of the house an extra hour or so a few times a week) I would just commit and do it.

This morning I packed a gym bag. Chip said, “What’s THAT for?” as if to imply, “Surely, that doesn’t contain gym clothes. For the GYM.” When I told him of my intentions he said, “Oh. Good job.” Hey, bud, thanks for the pep talk and excitement.

Do I need to mention that I also decided that I need to stop the snacking, so I ate 2 packages of Swiss Cake Rolls (aka Yodels) on the way over? To the gym?! Well, I had to finish the box or it would be there calling me all the time! Nah, I’ll leave that part out.

So, I sign-up, get my picture taken and sent on my way. First I had to check out the locker room so I could change. There’s a tanning bed that you pay extra for, that I will not pay extra for. There’s a steam room, too. Are you supposed to be wrapped in a towel in there or in a bathing suit or something? I’m not sure how that works, but it’s cool. Well, it’s HOT, but cool. You know what I mean! STOP IT!

I changed and climbed the stairs to the area where the treadmills are located. That’d really all I am after anyway. I shoved in my new iPod earbuds and climbed on the 1st machine. Dead. I can’t get it to work. I feel stupid and want to run away, but I don’t. I try the 2nd machine, inching closer to a non-friendly looking woman who is running really, really fast and reading a People magazine at the same time. 2nd machine? Same as the first. DEAD. Urgh. I say to the crazy runner-magazine-reader-woman, “Ugh, excuse me. Is there a trick to getting this to turn on?” After an exasperated look, she jerked out HER earbuds, and said, “Well, the machines over T-H-E-R-E look like they might work.” Lovely. She’s a freaking bitch. A freaking-crazy-bitch-runner-magazine-reader-woman. I hate her. I climbed on the treadmill right next to her and smiled her. Bitch.

After I warmed up a little, I looked around. There were 4 women up there, and they were all older than me, and all running really, really fast. I was surrounded by crazy-treadmill-runners. Super. There was one man in there, too. He looked to be about 65 and was kicking the ass of an elliptical machine. He’s a bitch, too.

One day down, a million to go.