Tag Archive | gym

Hey, People Storming The Gym In January Just Because of A New Year’s Resolution!

Oh, Lookie! It’s January, so the gym is now stuffed full of people who have no idea where the locker room is or how to work a treadmill.  Armed with ardent desire to turn over that new-year leaf and a list of resolutions, they come in their new outfits to the gym, where some of us have been toiling all year long.

To all those New Year’s Resolution-motivated gym goers, I say this will all due respect:  You are totally pissing me off.

Image credit: http://getfityou.com

Image credit: http://getfityou.com

It was bad enough when the lady with the brand-spanking-new Lululemon jogging knickers took my treadmill the other morning.  I could have gotten over that, but there were no other open treadmills because the latest flock of fair weather exercisers had come to roost.

Now, all I want to know, is when are they leaving?

In spin class, there wasn’t a single bike open.  Do you know what it’s like to take a spin class in a dark room with 60 people sweating like it was freaking high noon in India?  I didn’t either because usually there are only about 15 of us per class. Til now.  How awesome for me that an extremely portly 20-something dude in a muscle t-shirt and a tenuous relationship with deodorant took a bike next to me.  The grunts and splashes of his musky sweat were an extra bonus.

And, it was such a damn treat to find there wasn’t a single open locker for my winter coat, my purse and my $500 in cash.  (By $500, I mean $5.00, but penurious Mommy bloggers deserve lockers too.)  I am a paying client of the gym, who has been faithful and loyal all year long.  I want a place to put my Louis Vuitton hobo bag  10-year-old Target backpack. (It’s vintage, ya’ll.)

Don’t ask me about the time that Jeff was coming to pick me and the kids up at the gym, but he couldn’t find a parking spot, so I had to carry both of my children (who think it’s hilarious to drag their feet and go limp when it’s time to exit a building) over my shoulders to get home while Jeff circled the packed lot.

Also: I am still a little touchy about the night I got thrown out by management because I told a group of newbies that they “would probably always be out of shape so they should go home and fill out applications for The Biggest Loser.” (What? I thought they had star potential, and they took the last of the clean towels.)

The gym is my happy place, but only when there is room for me to stretch out, read the best magazines first (don’t make me wait to read that US Magazine all about Kanye and Kimmy’s spawn), and get on the treadmill that is closest to the water station.

I should be more charitable. I should support other people’s self-improvement projects.  And I do.  So long as they do it at another gym.

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Thanks For the Nightmares

All I wanted was a work-out, or what passes these days for a work out in my world: walking on the treadmill ever so slowly so as not to further injure my hurt glute. Honestly, it’s about one cardiovascular level above those elderly people who do aerobics in their chairs on PBS at 5:00 AM.

And, as if it’s not degrading enough be the only person NOT sweating at the gym, I also was subjected to the broken TV that was mounted above my treadmill.  I couldn’t turn it off; I couldn’t change the channel.  And there was only one open treadmill.

I have gotten in trouble before checking out the TV at the gym, so I should have been on my guard.

I am not much of a TV watcher, which I tell you because I want you to feel shame about your TV habits, and I want to be clear that yes, I am better than you are, because I do industrious things with my God-given life force while you are lounging stupidly in front of your TV.  (Also, my TV is broken, and I am too lazy to fix it.)

So, you can imagine my horror when I looked up from staring at my feet during my “walk” and saw this image:

Puppeteer caught with child pornography

Puppeteer caught with child pornography

For the love of the mysterious Higgs Boson, do I need to see that?  I am now haunted by this image.  It was on the screen for almost a mile, and I was doing a 29-minute mile!

You know what, Feds, I am grateful you caught the Pedophile Puppeteer and that you are focusing your efforts on sick people who prey on children. But, CNN, I am having a hard time not attributing to you a craven motive– it sure looks like you are trying to capitalize on the Penn State furor by showing garish images, which have only a tangential relationship to the story of a successful sting operation.  And dear Gym, get your TV’s fixed– I would almost prefer FOX News to that scary puppeteer image.

Zumba is looking more appealing everyday– at least there are no TVs in the studio.

These Are The People I Avoid At The Gym

There are some regulars at the gym who freak me out.  Actually, when I see them I want to turn around, hit the Popeye’s drive-thru for some dirty rice and fried chicken to eat at home on my couch. Do you know any of these types?

  • The woman who sits with her naked ass on the common bench in the locker room after her shower.  This is often the same woman, who while still dressed in her birthday suit, pulls out her cell phone and calls up her child’s teacher to complain vociferously about the A minus that her mini-me got in French.  The conversation quickly reveals that the child is in kindergarten.
  • The lascivious guy who positions himself on the elliptical machine so he can stare at the women’s asses.  He pretends to read the Wall Street Journal.
  • The 20-something who comes late to spin class reeking of smoke and complaining about a wretched hangover. As class goes on, you realize his/her sweat is roughly 80% vodka fumes.
  • That woman or man who is always there, no matter when you go. She shows up in yoga and spin class and hovers around the Zumba studio. You change your schedule and attend a crack-of-dawn cardio class and there he is.  How is that possible? Who is she/he?  No one knows. What’s her/his job? As far as you can tell it’s principally hanging around the gym.
  • Woman in locker room who hovers behind you sighing passive aggressively because you are blocking access to her locker.  She makes you so nervous that you drop the towel covering your bare ass to get out of her way (even though you have every right to be there), and you become the woman sitting with your naked ass on the bench because you are a black belt codependent and those sighs were making you mighty uncomfortable.
  • Person who shows up at a yoga class at the gym acting like he’s a goddamned swami with his guttural chants, his portable incense burner, and his excessive “OM.” It’s a gym, buddy. We are all here because we are scared of Zumba and too f*cking tired for spinning.
  • The woman who is wearing a teeny sports bra and a teeny pair of biking shorts who prances around talking exclusively to the men. In my case, she may hold a position of great power in your employer’s HR department. She likely has some medically enhanced body parts.
  • The exerciser who has to belt out songs during spin class, despite an inability to dead lift a tune. Repeat after me: There is no rapping in spin class. Ever. Good for you for knowing the words to “Rappers Delight.”  Now, take it outside.
  • All the a**holes who swarm the gym in January taking my spots in the locker room and in classes because of some BS New Year’s Resolutions.
An empty gym: No one to bug me.

An empty gym: No one to bug me.

  • That woman of a certain age (mine) who hoards all the good magazines while riding the recumbent bike and playing Words With Friends on her iPhone.
  • The aging politician who brings his whole entourage to spin class and spends the entire time ogling young ladies and talking about his time on the campaign trail with the Kennedys.
  • Zumba teachers.
  • The pregnant woman who is there Every. Single. Day– including the day she gives birth and the day after. (Nicole Kidman, I may be thinking of you.) She’s hardcore and she’s in better shape at 40 weeks pregnant than I will ever be.

Who are you avoiding at the gym? (The obnoxious, misanthropic mommy blogger who is full of vitriol and bitterness?)

I Am The Type To Forget To Diaper My Son

Someday we’ll all get a big laugh about the time I forgot to put a diaper on Simon when he was in the kid center at the health club.  Today may be the day for you to get the laugh; I am going to need more time.

Last night, as I was dropping Sadie and Simon off with the beloved “Carla” who works in the kid center, I smelled something funny in Simon’s pants. (“Funny” as in “fecal” not as in “ha ha.”)  I diligently checked his load and changed his diaper, while Sadie immediately started playing with the other kids by stealing their snacks.  I gave them both kisses and told Carla I would be back after spin class.

Spin class was transporting me to my happy place.  As sweat poured off my brow and onto the floor beneath my bike, I relaxed into a deep cardio reverie.  I didn’t notice at first when the health club fitness director walked into class with her walkie-talkie (is that thing really necessary?), but I did see her whisper something to the teacher, who promptly reacted by turning down the mash-up of “Moves Like Jagger” and “We Are Young.” She asked if there was anyone by the name of “Outlaw Mama” present.  Turns out I was needed in the kid center.

  The ever basic diaper change

Is it wrong that my first thought was not about the safety and well-being of my children, but about my abject disappointment that I wouldn’t be able to climb that last hill with the class?

Still out of breath from being almost 40 pushing myself during class, I gathered my things and made my way to the kid center.  When I turned the corner and saw Carla peering out of the door I felt the nauseating elixir of fear and shame.  When I was still eight yards away, Carla shouted to me, “You forgot to put a diaper on Simon!”

What?  How is that even possible?  I changed him less than 40 minutes ago on the padded changing table in the kid center, right in front of Carla’s eyes.  When I got into the room, Sadie confirmed Carla’s statement, “Mommy, Simon pooped, and you forgot the diaper.”  Having defecated his diaper-less pants only moments before, Simon was happily chasing an orange beach ball around the room.  I picked him up and smelled that “funny” smell again, and then I saw some “funny” stains on his pants.  He definitely was not wearing a diaper.

I turned and apologized to Carla profusely.  She accepted my apology and said something curious, “It’s ok.  I know you are not one of those kind of moms.”  In the blur of the moment, I couldn’t process Carla’s statement.  Did she mean I am not the type of mom to purposely forget a diaper?  Because I think it’s clear that I am the type to accidentally forget the diaper.  Actually, I am having a hard time imagining what kind of mom is worse than the one who flat-out forgot to put her son’s diaper on.  Which mom is that?