One of the positive things about Christina moving back home was that she was now hooked on working out in a gym. She asked if I wanted to join a gym with her. She said all the right things, how good it would be for me, we could work out together and spend time talking while on the treadmill and it was only $10 a month.
So I joined a gym.
Little rocky at first. Definitely learned some quick lessons:
- Didn’t know you weren’t supposed to change clothes in the (gasp) woman’s locker room. You have to go into a bathroom stall where no one can see your bra and panties. It was just the look on all the millennials faces the one and only time I did it that made me learn my lesson. Yeah, nothing is more fun than being a frumpy, middle-aged woman like me who has to come right from work and then remove pantyhose while trying to balance in a small stall.
- And I know she was right, but I was still pissed when Christina would not let me bring in my $1 McDonald sweet tea into the gym. I told her I needed it to hydrate and she handed me water.
- I know I am going to work out but that does not stop me from circling the parking lot 8 times to find a VFR (Very Front Row)
- The personnel trainer was great in giving me an individualized training program specifically focusing on my flabby underarms. Sure would be nice if I had a clue as to which machines she was referencing. Gym staff didn’t get it when I asked if they had a floor map of all the machines so I could circle the ones I was supposed to use. And I am sorry but some of these machines are just obscene. If I have to lie down, I’m not doing it.
My husband is not on board with this. Don’t get me wrong, he is thrilled I am working out 3-4 times per week but he still insists that we have all the exercise equipment at home and there is no reason I need to pay to go to a gym. Except there is. He has no idea what it means to a frumpy, overweight, middle-aged woman to hear the words:
“Have a great workout!” every time I walk in.