- Jumped out of the truck with purpose, tied unruly natty hair into bun, sauntered into the gym.
- Put my John Hancock on the Sign-In sheet, attendant mentions she hasn't seen me in a while and has the audacity to ask how I've been. the nerve
- Walk into the exercise room like I own the joint and then quickly reminded that whomever set up the treadmills so that your big ole arse faces the parking lot/entire world must be skinny sadists and should be fired.
- The room is empty (thank God) so I pick the treadmill closest to the wall as to not be seen by another local I may possibly see again during the light of day, plugged in some tunes and started walking.
- In between my huffing and puffing during the warm-up cycle (smirk and you die) the darn thing starts blinking my weight in bright red numbers! What in the Hell kind of torture contraption is this? Look - my pants are leaving an indention on my waistline, I look like I have on a shirt from my 9 yr. old and the friction that is coming from my thighs rubbing together could light up the whole damn town. Do I really need to know what my weight is?! I think not. Hey Nordic Track - let's do away with the weight indicator and instead display You are a stone cold fox. Make it happen people.
So there I am about 15 minutes into my little workout which started off pretty calm and almost/barely enjoyable until some random fella from the weight room decided to join me on the treadmills, and by joining me I am telling you he got on the one facing me I'm assuming so we could "get some chemistry going" over my wobbly bits and the uni-boob action I had going on. Oh, I could've had him with all the crazy-sweaty-sexy vibe radiating off me if I was into that kind of thing .... dating my grandfather .... but it royally ticked me off. There we were amongst a plethora of equipment that was totally available for someone to use NOT facing me and here this joker comes in and makes it so I have to step-up my game. Not pass out on the 4.9 incline and supersonic speed I set. Stare up at the ceiling pumping my fists to 50 Cent and not fall breaking a hip. Pretend that I don't want to die after only 20 minutes.
By the grace of God I survived for 35 minutes with my pride relatively intact and without a Same Time - Same Place nod from Old Man River. Also a huge shout out to my husband for eating the remaining 3.2 cookies while I was out therefore dashing any possibility of me consuming them upon my return which would have undoubtedly happened. Tonight all I need to do is plug in some more funky beats, squeeze into my ravishing walking gear and run out of the door while I am still motivated. All of this of course depends on me being able to walk up the 2 flights of stairs to reach my front door. So, if you see me sitting in my driveway tomorrow morning in the same clothes I have on today you will know there was not a repeat performance on the treadmill or I had a late night at the V.F.W with gramps.
