The first 15 minutes are the worst and I’m not on the treadmill. It takes me 15 minutes to rev myself up, gather my gym and and make the drive over and somehow transport my body from the warm comfort of the car, across a freezing parking lot and into the humid confines of the place I pay good money every month to enter.
There are some things I definitely do not like about the gym and most of them are limited to the locker room. I hate it when women spread out everything they schlepped in with them all over the bench, not thinking that someone (me) would need just the tiniest amount of pressed wood real estate. I don’t want to plop my bag on the janky carpet when there is space above it that is meant for everyone and not just the woman with the Old Navy tote who decided to occupy the space with every single toiletry she owns including but not limited to the Costco-sized bottles chlorine hair treatment.
Also what upsets me: HUMBLEBRAGGERS. These are the people who like to couch their stunning self-pats in announcements like, “I didn’t know this elliptical was on the highest setting! It didn’t seem difficult at all!”
Last night this woman stopped me to ask if I had weighed myself. I actually had weighed myself, but I didn’t know if she could tell from the tears that were streaking down my face or if she had heard me yell and shake my fists at the concrete ceiling above, “WHY!? WHY!?” upon seeing the numbers. I said yes and she asked, “Is it correct?”
I was even more confused but I said yes, it’s correct. Do I look like a gym scale repair woman? Especially in the kind of clothes I wear to the gym? I mean, nothing says, this lady knows how to handle gadgets than the Cupcake Royale shirt I was wearing that read: LEGALIZE FROSTITUTION.
“Oh! Well, I’m just surprised.” She remarked. “I just went on vacation and it says that I didn’t gain weight at all!”
And I know I should have been all way to go girlfriend! Let’s empower each other and celebrate how we give into the Princess Pacific Cruise ship meal plan, especially those stations with made-to-order omelette and prime rib carved and piled onto your plate without any judgment whatsoever! But I didn’t. I couldn’t go there. I nodded and let out a half-quizzical/half-amused reply that wasn’t even a word just a high-pitched, “Haaaaa…”
Maybe next time I can give a high five and say, “Oh no you didn’t!” and then answer in another voice, “Oh yes you did!” and people all around will be so confused as to what I’m doing that they won’t even know that secretly in my head I’m wondering how many calories my seething jealousy is burning.