Yesterday, after work, I went to the gym. I hadn't been in a veeeeeery long time. I have been semi-regular in my workouts at home on the elliptical machine. I have been extremely regular with my trips to the refrigerator. But the gym? Not so much.
Let me begin by saying that the gym still smells like stanky, stinky, funky, sweaty butt. No lie. As much as they spray it down and turn the fans on full-blast, you just can't cover up 24 consecutive hours of active human stench.
Other things have not changed either.
The girls in their teeny, tiny spandex capris, with their back tattoos and their sports bras, are still prancing on the treadmills.
The guys in their sweaty tank tops and their gym shorts are still flexing in the mirrors and walking around like someone pumped them full of helium.
And then there are the masses. Those who somehow crawled out of bed or out of the cars to try their best at doing something other than walking and sitting. These are the people who wear a holey t-shirt from 1997 and do not care what pants they have on just as long as they aren't jeans. Khakis? Maybe. Jeans? No. Too much friction. They sweat and pant and count down the minutes until their cardiac routines are over. They are not there for looks, for socializing, for caring what anyone else thinks. They are there for their health, whether physical or mental, and because today was the day they actually packed their running shoes in their car.
I applaud these people. I love their dedication, their humanity, their humility. I love that they come and put in their time and leave without looking at themselves in the mirror. These are gym warriors, not gym barbies.
I am a pseudo gym warrior wanting to be a gym barbie who somehow spends more time stressing over the gym than actually going to the gym. Or in other words, I am a gym avoider who fears failure but desperately wants to fit in without having to make the commitment.
Or in other words, I am a hot mess.
But yesterday, I came back, in all of my spandex glory.
As I was on the treadmill, busting out the routine I mentioned in yesterdays' post, I noticed out of my periphery a girl on the treadmill next to me. All I could tell was that she was shorter than me and very fit. So, out of my insane competitive nature and my severe lack of common sense, I upped my incline and my speed, all in an attempt to show the world that a non-petite woman could out-run, out-walk, out-sweat a fit one.
And then I looked at her, for real this time, and noticed one tiny detail: she appeared to be 15 months pregnant.
Well done, Warrior Princess. You just out-treadmilled a pregnant lady who could probably give birth the next time she sneezes.
The upside to this is that I got in a killer workout. The downside is that I am having trouble walking today. I would consider that a great first visit back to the gym.