Day 2 at the Gym

I gingerly walked my sore self into the gym for my official day number 2 of working out. I could barely lift my key chain to scan the barcode. But, there was a new cute skinny girl behind the counter today, so I did my very best to look fit and fabulous. (The pain meds have started to kick in and I am loosening up a bit.)

Today the gym is full of wonderfully skinny and fit people. Where did they all come from? I thought that by joining a gym located in the basement that there would be a smidgen of a chance for a little privacy in my workout. Clearly everyone else disagrees because there are at least 20 people that turn to stare at me when I walk in. I feel like I should raise up my arms like I am a celebrity or something. But, I think I'll save that for next week.

I scan the room to figure out where to begin. The only machine that doesn't have someone right next to it is the treadmill. But, unfortunately, the treadmills are located right in front of the stair-steppery things, and I really don't want the pressure of all the fit be-yotches staring at my swass.


I find my work out weapon of choice. It is a sort of bike thingy, with a full seat that you sit on while you sort of pedal out in front of you. It's perched high on a ledge in the corner, directly in front of a fan. So, I have the supermodel-wind-in-the-hair thing happening while I get the most fabulous view of everyone in the gym. And, I don't have to worry about anyone staring at my butt hanging out over the sides of the machine. I have officially dubbed this as MY corner.

I get on my bike and start pedalling like Lance Armstrong. The first two minutes are a bit painful, but once I have loosened up, it feels really great. It's actually kind of easy. (I must be coasting.)

I've got my I-pod cranked and I am just pedalling my heart out. This is wonderful. I feel like Jack LaLane. I must be fit as a fiddle. I am just zooming right along. I am actually starting to enjoy myself.

Apparantly, I was having such a wonderful time that I got a bit carried away. Before long a very large sweaty gentleman in a harley t-shirt covering his naked lady tatoos approaches my throne and says "ding ding."

I pull out my ear buds and politely say "excuse me?"

"Ding ding" he repeats.

"I don't get it. Is my time up or something?" I say.

"No, you kept singing 'you can ring my bell' so I came over to give it a ding."

This would be mildly amusing if the man didn't look like a serial killer and I didn't have sweat dripping from my fabulous bangs. However, I am a bit mortified that I was caught singing.

"Was I that loud?" I ask a bit shocked.

"Well, I was right in front of you. I assumed you were singing to me." He says and gives me a big grin that shows me his lack of teeth.

"Nope. I'm new to this and must've gotten carried away. Sorry." I say in my best leave-me-the-f-alone-and-let-me-finish-my-friggen-workout-in-peace voice. I put my earbuds back in and I resume pedalling like a fiend. I really wish at this point I could pedal right out of the building, but I have 10 more minutes on my program.

Seriously, I don't get men. I am wearing spandex pants and my "I drive a mini-van" tee and I have bobby pins in my bangs to keep them out of my face. My pits are soggy, my face is beet red, and I'm panting. Yet somehow this man thinks that I have come here to be a part of some social dating network. I would be flattered except it is quite obvious to me that this man has no taste whatsoever.

I finish my 40 minute bike ride and I do a quick upper body workout. (OK so I lifted 2 pound weights 20 times, but it's a start.) I've decided to call it quits for the day when I see Killer Man heading my way again.

I practically trip over myself trying to get out the door. I escape and press the button and wait for the elevator. (Yes, I know it very hypocritical that I take an elevator after working out. I'm not quite ready for stairs yet.)

The elevator in our building is a little different. And, it is quite possibly the slowest elevator in the entire world. If you get off the elevator on floors B, 1, or 2 the front doors open. But, if you get off the elevator on 1R, which is where the store is located, the back doors open. So, I entered the elevator in the basement, pressed 1R and walked in and faced the back of the elevator.

It never even crossed my mind that the elevator could possibly stop on the first floor. I just assumed it was a slow trip, and since I was still jamming to my I-pod I was blissfully unaware that the doors had opened and that everyone in the atrium on the first floor was looking at me shake my booty in the elevator. Somehow I missed the discreet coughs from the people outside waiting patiently to get in. But, when someone touched my shoulder, scared the pants off me and I screamed bloody murder, well, it all dawned on me quite suddenly.

I jumped 4 feet in the air and turned around to see a scary homeless-looking woman and Enrique Los Hot Pants standing there waiting to get in. (Enrique Los Hot Pants is the fictitious name we gave the super hot banker/trader guy in the office next to ours. He is like 6'2" and he is absolutely stunning. And since the wall of the store that faces his office is all glass, we get the pleasure of seeing him all day. Wonderful eye candy.)

NOW I am a bit embarrassed. Not only was I caught singing and dancing but it becomes evident to me when I enter the store and see myself in a full length mirror that I also have a wonderful streak of butt sweat down my spandex pants. Wow, what I sight I am.

I am just the classiest of all the class acts. I never cease to amaze myself. Perhaps tomorrow I will take the stairs after all.