So it's time for Words. I'm not sure this is really worth the hype (I didn't really hype it as good words, just that there would be words, so I'm not held accountable to providing great content. I refuse that.), but the news on the street is that I broke down and joined a gym.
I'd been threatening to do so since I started working over at Tiny Town. I needed something to do other than late late nights at work to avoid the rush hour traffic jam.
Lo' & behold, there's a Planet Fitness right around the corner from TT. Ten bucks a month, no commitment, full use of all the equipment, 24/7ish.
So the plan was to leave work around 5:30 or 6:00 (but I was hoping towards 5:30 more often than not), go to the gym for an hour, skate through traffic at 6:30, home by 7ish and feeling all accomplished and smug about how I've managed my time.
The reality? I get out of work at seven. Or seven twenty, as the case was today. Working out by 7:45ish (after changing, etc), home by 9:45, and wondering what the hell I'm going to eat for dinner at 10:00 at night. Not quite on plan, but I'm still working it out. I'm only in the second week of this whole charade.
Interesting thing about my gym. It's co-ed, so I'm not really used to working out with boys in the room. My other gym adventure was an all-girls gig, and I was much more comfortable with that. But this is actually okay. The gym's mantra is "Judgment Free Zone" and so I try not to judge.
But I got a little judgy the day I signed up. And noticed they have big bowls of candy all over the counter. I mentioned it to the dude signing me up and he told me, "help yourself, have as much as you want." A marketing ploy to keep you coming back and paying that ten bucks? Stealthy, Sir. And downright dirty pool.
I didn't indulge.
On my first day there I witnessed my motivation. An old guy - old, not a middle-ager - he must have been in his 80's. Lifting weights on the machines. Doing his reps. And then getting up, grabbing his walker, shuffling over to the next machine and doing his reps. I challenged myself then and there to at least be as good at working out as the 80 year old with a walker.
It turned out to be a tough challenge as I pulled things just doing the stretching contraption they have. I'm not nimble or limber at all. At ALL, I say. Things hurt and pull and I couldn't even get into most of the positions, but I kept trying, just like Mr. Walker.
Then one night last week, I found myself judging again. I took my British Prude to the changing area with a curtained cubby. I am NOT going to be an out-in-the-open changer. And others should follow suit, in my judging opinion. They have showers right across from the changing cubby. And someone's curtain was not pulled tight. At all. And I saw Things that I would have rather not seen. In the way I don't want to see a big hairy vagina on an old (ahem. middle-aged) lady. I don't want to see my own big hairy vagina, much less someone else's.
So I had that.
And then tonight? Again, trying not to judge, but I judged silently, to myself.
A lady was working out with pink foam rollers on her head. I looked twice and wanted to take a photo, but figured I'd get evicted and then I'd be stuck with no other option than to spend long hours at Tiny Town so I kept the image as a mental picture only. But it was tough.
There you have it. I'm working out. And using that stretchy contraption thing, which to my amazement was easier to do the whole routine tonight. I sort of rock. And judge.