Some people go to the gym, but I go to the gym. I go for hours at a time. I mean, if I have to pay for it, I may as well use it like it’s a oven and I’m a baker. Tonight, I tried a body sculpting class. I didn’t really enjoy it, but I found myself chatting with the instructor after class. I think this means I have to go once in a while not to look like a total heel. There were some reasons I didn’t like it, namely: there were far too many people, I had to get heavier weights, I got stuck in the front corner, because I could fit nowhere else, I was a bit sore, I saw a flaw in the instructor’s form in a move (she was swinging her body on the bicep curl), and most importantly the mirrors are warped and I looked magnificently huge.
Well, that had me a bit fouled, but later the instructor thought I was more 19 than 29 (that’s cause I dye my grays; can you say white by 35?). I felt a little better, but I get that a lot. After that I hit the bag where a young hot thing then taught me how to actually throw a few punches, so that was both gratifying and cool. I managed a whole 1.5 on the treadmill without stopping or falling off; I still feel so unsatisfied by my ability, or rather inability, to run on the treadmill when I can go for hours on the pavement. Then off to the customary swim (15 minutes, but I already said I’m sore), there a random, good-looking, slightly older gentleman engaged me in some light-hearted conversation. I felt a little bit like a pimp by then.
I’ve been finding it hard not to see the fat girl in the mirror recently. I do know that this is in my head and not my mirror. Sometimes, I’m not sure of what I look like, but I guess other people don’t have that problem. When I’m having a moment (and it a moment because it too shall pass), I just make a point to use the eyes of others. So I guess I’m lookin’ good!