Tag Archives: working out

Lift This. Sweat on That.

Who invented the idea of going to a gym?
Who decided it was a good idea to go into a room and sweat with a bunch of strangers?
No. I mean really.
Who?

gym 4
Have you seen what they were doing? The first gym rats willingly went to sweat and do physical activity with strangers in a dark room. Actually, kinda sounds kinky, but you know…why not…Marge said it would be good for me.

And so they went.

I get the whole men going to the gym, back in the day. The lifestyle changed. No longer were they running around hunting and killing animals. Dinosaurs weren’t trying to eat them all the time. They didn’t have to carve instructions into stone. Fields were plowed by tractor, not ox. And they no longer had to walk to work, uphill both ways, in the snow, without shoes….cause they had a horse and buggy.

How did all this get started?

Gym5

How exactly did you get selected to be a guinea pig for these contraptions? Here just step into this and strap this on. No. Really. Trust me.

Yeah and that’s exactly what Sweeney Todd said before he trimmed your hair. Then you were the main ingredient in his lover’s meat pies. Oh so delicious. Filling, yet half the calories.

I’m not impressed.

And when did women think it necessary to start torturing themselves on these mind-boggling machines? The women of yesteryear were, without a doubt, in better shape than most are in today’s society.

Their movie star golden girls had curves and softness, voluptuous bodies that were adored by men the world over. So who said this contraption was a good idea? Jiggle it, make the fat disappear and the muscles appear. Gym 3 is just a little too much pushing and pulling going on in this example. I mean, how exactly do you make it go?

I’m suspicious that there were quite possibly other enjoyments going on with the early exercise machines.

I’m also not seeing any instructions on these machines. Did it just come to Marge automatically? So obvious how this works, type of moment? Did they fumble through the steps after watching someone else? Or did they have personal trainers? Was there a posting in the daily mailer reviewing the necessary steps to getting the Betty Boop attributes?

I’m just curious.

Did they sweat? There doesn’t seem to be any sweating going on here. And if you go to a gym today and I would assume this goes for ANY gym – they smell. Some worse than others. But it’s like they say on the crime shows, “just breathe normally and you’ll get used to it.”

No getting over it. Gyms smell.

Bad.

No doubt the men sweat. It was therapy for them.

Women, I’m thinking not so much. They didn’t start sweating until Jane Fonda and Richard Simmons hit the scene. Then I’m fairly certain they were sweating to the oldies and goodies.

gym 1 No sweating here.

I bring all this up because I’ve been going to my local gym. It’s a new place for me since we’ve only been in this area for 3 months. Less than a 5 minute drive from my house, couldn’t ask for anything better.

Since college, however, I’ve belonged to a handful of different gyms and I’ve concluded one thing:
It’s like signing up to become a resident of another country.

I can only speak to the environments of the countries I willingly joined, all seemed like good ideas at the time. Flash back on some of them and I think WTF?

First.
There are the ones in town where people join to go and be seen. There’s no sweating allowed. In fact, as you walk in, they spritz you with glittery body oil….just to make you shine and sparkle even more. The residents of these gyms are usually the ones who are half plastic.

Top to tail….fake. Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

Fake.

They laugh loudly and prance like reindeers from one side of the room to the other. Did you see me? No? Here, let me go over there and look at the magazines. Wait, did you see my butt? No? Let me go this way….

Just stop the insanity, please. I’m may throw up.

Second.
There is the local gym, which houses two different types of residents – mostly:

1. Older residents who have been told to start a gym program for their health.
2. Middle aged people who just want to try and look better.

The side note for this type is sometimes you get a local gym, owned/operated by a locally grown person who is definitely into good health and weight lifting. In which case, you may get some serious body builders. But, that’s okay, they’re doing their own thing and really, the owner of this particular country just wants to keep it going and is happy you’re there. In fact, so happy, they will even help you learn new exercises! Score! Didn’t need a trainer for that!

The local gym, out of all the ones I’ve experienced, has been my favorite…..thus far.

Third.
A gym that is part of your housing community.
One word.
Children.

Fourth.
Is only allowed for individuals with estrogen.
The pink ladies gym.
I’m not talking about the Grease Lightening Pink Ladies either.
The color pink.
Pink walls. Light pink carpet. Pink towels.
Pink.
And the competition is so high that you can’t hear the music on your head phones.

Conversations, are flung with these one line, free roaming daggers:

“My butt isn’t as big as hers, right?”
“I can’t believe she’s wearing THOSE pants.”
“She smells.”
“Her tan is so fake.”
“I can lift more than that girl.”
“Are you looking at me?”
“Look! At how much she’s sweating! GROSS!”
“Do you think they’re real?”
“Slut.”

Yep, that about sums it up.

So here I am at my current gym. This was after I realized the gym associated with our housing complex was not going to work out…..see above explanation.

I’m on my second month now. It’s not bad.
Smells? Yes.
Lots of equipment. Bonus.

I have been going after work. It’s a enormous mix of younger folks (translate that into college kids), a smattering folks my age (some grey hair sprinkles) and few older folks (translate that into white hair and balding.) It’s crowded, but not terrible. Definitely have to wait for things like benches to do free weights, but meh, I can find something else. Definitely no ginormous body builders here – that I’ve witnessed. So we’re all doing about the same and hoping to look as good as that person over there.

The bonus here – no grunting. Seriously. There could be a law about that in this place. Thank you.

When I go, I’m in the zone. I’m not paying too much attention to who is looking at who or not looking. I’m in and out. I don’t have time for the piddly nonsense of the gym social scene. I mind my etiquette and move on.

Confession though: I do notice that I am one of the older women. I do notice the college girls looking at me. I don’t care, I’ll march over into the mix of the boys and use the free weight leg press just like any of those guys wishing he was like Popeye, but these college girls won’t. I will hop up on the assisted pull up / dip (cause my arms are weak and I need the help) and not give two flying monkeys what anyone thinks. If nobody, after careful surveillance of course, is using one of the Smith Machines, I will walk over and do some squats. the-smith-machine-good-or-bad
Life is too fucking short to worry about what everyone else is thinking about you. In all honesty, they’re probably not even noticing.

Unless I fall off the assisted pull up – then I’ll be damned they would of course be watching, with a spotlight, sports commentator and I’d get a 3.7 combined score for landing it.

Or if I collapse under the Smith Machine because my hands slipped and I can’t get the weight off my collapsed body. (Talk about awkward positioning.) The next day’s headline will read: “Woman crushed by mere 50 pound weight while squatting. Should have used gloves to avoid slippage.” Hindsight.

This morning I decided to switch things up and go first thing. No make up. I didn’t even comb my hair – just put a clip in it. 5:30AM – and there I was at the gym.

THIS, for me —— insanity! The cats were even confused with my early wake up. If sleeping were an Olympic sport, I could get a bronze medal!

The gym parking lot was nearly empty. What is this great fortune I have? Park by the front door? Are they open yet?

Turns out all the college kids come after work. Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

I walk in and any machine I wanted could have been mine. The age bracket – completely different. I was one of the young chicklets walking around. Everyone was in sweat pants or baggy shorts. Nobody was wearing liquid latex body paint outfits….oh, this is nice!

I’ve found my people! This is when the people in my age bracket and older come to work out. They’re serious. They’re here to get a job done and then jump head first into the rest of their daily routine.

They aren’t here to fein idiocy at how to do a bicep curl.
They aren’t here to twirl their hair and laugh at the guys doing bicep curls.
They aren’t here to prance from one side of the room to the other. Wait. Did you notice my butt?
They’re not here to try and out weight the guy next to them in the mirror!

We’ve got shit to get done and in under 60 minutes.

Go!
Go!
Go!

I can’t wait to go back tomorrow! We’re like a little early morning gang!

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear my Jazzercise thong!

Jane Fonda thong

That has as much of a chance at happening as me finding Forrest Griffen on the machine next to me.

In which case, I’d totally be twirling my hair and feigning how to do a bicep curl.

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The Gym – Always a Story

My goal is to get to the gym four times a week.

When I successfully wrangle my butt out from under the soft and cozy blankets….stumble over the pets to make a cup of coffee….blindly throw on my gym gear…..put my hair up in two pig tails and manage to make it INTO the gym….I give myself a pat on the back, a kiss on the hand and a red star on the calendar.

No, really I do.

Kiss my hand, that is.

If I’m going to spend the wee hours of the morning sweating it out with some of  Juneau’s most interesting residents… then by god someone should be kissing me for the effort.   I’m not referring to the overly furry man with the pony tail and tat-sleeves I see every morning.  Either shave that thing, knit it into a sweater or cover it up – good god man!

Of course getting stars on the calendar is quite the bonus too.   It’s a mental thing.

Yeah me!

Without a doubt, it goes back to my second grade days when Mrs. Boyer would give out stars to the best kids in class at the end of the day.  Yes, please.  Don’t I deserve TWO?  Me, suck up?  Never.  Don’t know what that even means.  Now give me the stars!

Each student received a little handmade book at the start of the school year to collect stars.  My booklet had a gray wallpaper cover.

The two most sought after treats were either getting your face painted during recess or saving up 100 stars.  What did you get for 100 stars?  The best thing ever!

Mrs. Boyer would bring her Collie into school for the whole day.

Okay, I know you were thinking the best thing ever is really an endless vodka iv drip.  Followed by daily  massages by some hunky, half-clothed, man of your choice on a white sand beach.  Better yet, can I have the vodka iv drip while getting the massage from Mr. Bare Chested Sexy Guy?

Funny the things you remember.

That’s why I love my red stars.

When I go to the gym, I’m focused.  I’m not there to be seen.  I’m not there to walk on the treadmill and gossip with friends.  I’m not there to check into a social club.  I really don’t give a flying flip if my exercise pants don’t match my tank top or socks.   I’m there to sweat, lift weights, climb stairs, push weights, sweat, circulate on the elliptical, pull weights, work, sing along to the songs on my iPod and ponder how to solve the world’s problems.

Duh.

Yes, it’s true.  I’ve ignore people I know at the gym.  Thank you tunnel vision.  Honest, it’s not on purpose.  (Okay, I admit, sometimes it is.)   If you cross through my line of sight of course  I will acknowledge you – I’m not rude!  However, if you’re on a treadmill six down and across the room from me, don’t expect me to wave my hands in the air.  I am certainly not going to rush over to inquire how your previous night was.

News flash:  I don’t care.  I am there to work.  Get in.  Get out.

Some of the members of my gym are aliens.  There’s the crazy guy who I swear is going to seriously injure himself on the weight machines.  He’s creepy and he’s dangerous.  Not a good combination.   Above all he drives me absolutely nuts with how he does things. There was the woman who was insistent on providing me full frontal disclosure – awkward.  Just put that away, I’m not interested in your ya-ya.

However, this week, I’ve encountered something completely different and I can’t figure out what the advantage would be for this guy.

The only logical conclusion in my mind:  this guy thought he was in a low-budget porno.

Imagine this scenario:  I’m using a flat bench to do flyes and presses.  A guy comes over – not in the best shape.  Older.  The dumb bell racks are lining the wall in front of me – by my feet.  He walks up and selects one weight – at about 30 pounds.

This puts him about 6 feet away from me.  Immediately to my right.

Holding just one weight.

In his right hand.

Curls commence.

Fine.

Then the weirdness starts.  Sound the appropriate alarm here…

He raises his left leg and puts his left foot up on the rack at a 90 degree bend – sort of.

His foot is on the rack.  Kinda like he’s stretching?  Really?

Did I mention he’s wearing shorts?

Now what is this about?

I’m still perplexed.  Weirdo.  I finish my bench exercises and realize he’s conveniently parked himself where my weights need to be returned.

Stretch….one….bend….two….bend….three….bend.

Really?

I put my weights down next to my bench and decide to walk through the gym for a minute – you know to cool off.  I return a couple of minutes later.  Now he’s attracted a friend.  Both of them are now blocking the rack.  You’ll be glad to know, he’s switched legs.

Bend….one….bend….two…bend…three.

It’s just too early for this kind of stuff.  I’ve only had one cup of coffee.  I’ve just sweated myself silly for an hour.  My chest feels like silly putty and now you want to block my way?

Grabbing my weights, I throw my shoulders back and walk straight up to the guy – nearly hip checking him on the approach.  EXCUSE ME – and slam the weights into their holder.  He obviously thought I was impressed with his pale, fleshy thigh as he gave me a big grin…bend…one…bend…two.

Really?

Freak.

Don’t make me say sorry.

Just Another Gym Observation

Three things to know about me:

1. I’m not a prude.
2. I’ve sunbathed on a nudest beach.
3. I have nudest friends.

Now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you what happened yesterday morning at the gym. After checking in at the front desk, I merrily head into the ladies locker room – excited only enough as one can be when you realize you have an 45 minutes of cardio coming up.

Now, when you open the door to the locker room you immediately have to turn left and the lockers are straight ahead of you – about 6 full strides. When I took that left yesterday morning, luckily there are non-skid mats on the floor, otherwise, I would have most definitely found myself taking out the garbage can and knocking over the floral arrangement as I tried to keep upright and act normal.

Behold full frontal nudity.

Arms above the head – fluffing their wet hair with the towel.

Stretching….

It was like going to an all inclusive resort, where you flip through the TV channels and suddenly realize the porn channels are free. One minute you’re watching Bobby Flay challenge a chef from Detroit and the next minute you’re seeing what I can only call wet meat and a lot of legs.

There I stood, like a deer in headlights. Still in my purple puffy coat, hat, scarf and socks (you have to take your shoes off at the front door.) What the hell was that? I think I just went blind. I don’t need this at this hour of the day. Quickly I think to myself, I could suddenly stop and wash my hands. Or better yet, use the toilet, then wash my hands. While still in my coat? Really. Just go get a locker. Get a grip on yourself.

It’s not like I haven’t seen women naked in the locker room before. It happens all the time. However, this girl thought she was attending a show and tell. I’m busy trying to find out where modesty went and it’s nowhere to be found. I like being modest. I don’t need everyone to see what I’ve got. Myself, God, my doctor and my better half know what I’ve got and that is good enough for me thank you.

As I approach the locker area, still partially blinded, I realize….shit, I think I know her. Are you kidding me? Well this is awkward. The upside is my usual locker is free so I head straight for it. The downside is it’s located about four down from her’s. And she’s taking up the entire bench. When I say entire bench, I’m saying I couldn’t even put my water bottle down.

Now I’m stuck with the idiotic panic of probably knowing this girl. If it’s her…then we actually worked together this summer. I’ve seen her in here over the last few months and we don’t say anything other than a “Hi, how’s it going.” Well I can’t start a conversation now, because I’m trying to ignore her. And she had that towel on her head, which changed her appearance. It’s not like I would recognize her in a lineup of naked woman from the neck down – so I’ll just pretend I’m in my own world. Which, for now, due to safety reasons, I am.

La la la la
Small fuzzy pets.
Baby animals.
Snorkeling.

Then it happens. Using my stealthy peripheral vision I see, in shear horror, she has put her leg up on the bench to apply body lotion. WAH! Kooka! Kooka! I don’t want to see your Kooka! Put it away! OMG where is your modesty? For the love of God, woman! Did you want me to run over and slap a blue medal ribbon on you or something? Cheese-Its!

La la la la la
Going to Barnes & Noble.
Snuggling with FeeBee cat.
La La La.
Loved that movie “Red” and the pink pig
La la la

As I’m pondering whether to acknowledge her or not…because I don’t want to be rude and we obviously saw each other. Although I’d say I saw more of her than I wanted….another lady comes into the locker area and starts chatting with her.

I swear she says to naked woman: “I like your outfit.”
Naked woman: “thanks.”

I pause for a nano-second. Was that a pick up line?
That’s it! I’m outta here. I slam my locker door and punch in the security code. I probably left sneaker tracks high tailing it out of there so fast.

Of course, as I dash out the door to head up to the cardio machines I nearly trip over the Creepy Fucker – figures.

Today, I’ll admit, I’m a little afraid to go back to the gym. At least I got my sight back.