Gym Time!

I LOVE going to the gym! When my kids were small, it was due in very large part to getting a little kid-free time. But now with all my kids in school all day, that is no longer a motivation. I've always really liked knowing that my body was strong and capable. And since I climb far fewer trees these days than I once did, a gym is the easiest way to accomplish that. I've seen how quickly a body can betray, and so while mine is still working well, I intend to work it!

A few months ago, I let my membership at a local rec center lapse. It's the gym I've used for years, but it was no longer meeting my needs. I intended to just focus on my half marathon training on the roads and trails and combine that with push-ups and other things I could do here at home.

But then a swanky new gym opened in the downtown of my cute and adorable little town. It took over the old hardware store and is that perfect combination of raw old brick walls, distressed but gleaming old wood floor, and lots of  dark metal. It's opening happened to coincide with my decision to get back into weight lifting again. (I don't think I've really focused on lifting since before I had my daughter. She's six now.)

I love my swanky new gym! It's a 24 hour facility and doesn't always have staff there, so the other day I used my key card to get in only to discover the whole building dark and empty! This, btw, is one of my definitions of heaven. A whole gym, completely tricked out, and all to myself!!

I then spent the next 10 minutes mentally writing a book involving the murder of a woman who is all alone in a swanky new 24 gym. All this while lacing up my sneakers, picking out my treadmill, programming it, queuing up my running playlist on my iPod, and just settling in.

Heaven, y'all.

On the TV screen in front of my treadmill they were showing some sort of championship basketball game for high schools. Basketball is the one sport I don't mind watching. And it was a NJ high school playing against an Indiana high school in a very close game.

I was all alone, so I cheered loudly at every basket the NJ team made. I booed out loud at missed or lousy calls against the NJ team all while running with my ear buds in.

It was after one particularly hard-won basket, I threw my arms up in the air and yelled "YES!" for the NJ team, and noticed an older gentleman had come up the stairs at some point and was exactly in my blind spot.

See?? Total potential for a murder mystery! I have no idea how long he'd been there, but he was clearly amused at my enthusiasm for high school basketball.

I finished up my miles on the treadmill and then moved over to do my first arm work out with the weights in a reeeeaaaaally long time. So long, in fact, that when I attempted to put my previous lifting weight on the barbell for chest presses, I was....um....overly optimistic.  So much so, that I could not lift the bar back up and had to slither out from under it, off the bench, and on to the floor.

A friend of mine once commented that I reminded him a little of Lucille Ball from "I Love Lucy". At the time I bristled a little at the comparison. But as I've thought of some of the stories I've told him from my life over the years, it's fairly apt. Anyway, as I was slithering out from the bar none too gracefully, that's all I could think of.

The guy at the gym was nice enough to pretend he didn't see me make a fool of myself that time. I managed to finish up my workout without any further shenanigans, thank goodness.

I'm happy to report that my subsequent visits to the gym have yielded no such stories and have simply been boring.

Not so good for anecdotes, but much better for my ego.

Resolutions 2013: Fitness

Several years ago, some friends and I walked a half marathon. I don't use the word walk as in a leisurely stroll either. It's entirely possible we walked it faster than I will be able to run it.

But since I haven't been able to take all my favorite spinning/weights/yoga classes this year, I feel like a bump on a log. (I'm still doing a horrific boot camp class, belly dancing class, and a little bit of walking/weights once or twice a week, but without running or spinning I don't feel right.)

Sadly, spinning just doesn't fit into my schedule with the kids' schooling at home/vision therapy/preschool, etc. SO I'm going to sign myself up for a half marathon.

Possibly because I'm a little bit crazy. Also, because I like proving to myself that I can do these things.  I am by nature a lazy person. I have to get myself mixed up in crazy goals to actually motivate me in to doing the things that are good for me.

Anybody want to join me?

The Gym Chronicles, episode 2

I am something of a gym rat. And I'm okay with that. 3-6 days per week I'm there. I love going and trying to work up a sweat. I say "try" because I'm not a sweater. (No wool comments, please.)

Today it will be in the low 90s outside with disgusting amounts of humidity. I will feel sticky all over, but there will be no sweat pouring off of me the way it does many people. I remember when I was a little girl, my Mom and I took some Sister missionaries out to lunch at the Bridgewater Diner. One of the sisters, when discussing what it was like to walk miles and miles every day knocking on doors said, "Horses sweat. Men perspire. And women glow." My mom laughed. My mom sweats, though.

Anyway, the way I gauge how great a workout I get at the gym is how wet my shirt is afterwards, because usually it's not very. I was really excited by spinning when they first started the classes last year at our rec center. The first few weeks, I felt positively marinated in my own juices. And then I got better, so I stopped sweating so much. I even wear my heart rate monitor so I know how hard I'm pushing myself, and still not so much with the sweat. My shirt is vaguely damp at the end of a class.

The ultimate test of sweat is when one of two things happen:

1. The hollow of my throat is wet with perspiration. (wet, not sticky)
2. I can feel at least one bead of sweat rolling down my back.

Until this week, it had been a long time since I last felt either of these two things. My dear friend, Mark, gave me the interval training regime that his brother (who's a trainer for the NY Giants) gave him.

This workout kicks my bottom up one hill and down another. After 20 minutes, I am a mess and can barely limp home. (I seem to recover about half and hour later and feel good for the rest of the day.)

The workout, if you're interested, is this:

treadmill:
-no incline, walk for 2 minutes at 3 mph
-jack the incline up to an 8 and run as fast as you can for 30 seconds (for me this is between 6 and 7 mph)
Do 8 sets of this back and forth.
-wipe off your treadmill and try to walk away instead of collapsing on the floor like the big puddle of goo you feel like.

Good times.

The Gym Chronicles, episode 1

I am making a full confession of being something of a gym rat. Mostly going there gives me an excellent excuse to be able to read for an extra hour of every day while still looking productive. And one hour per day without any children clinging to me is very helpful to everyone's sanity in my house.

It is due to this feeling of pleasure that I do my best to dissuade others from being social with me. I love socializing...but not at the gym. My average looks, average hair color, average height and weight and slightly below average ability to dress myself in matching clothes help quite a bit in my effort to go unnoticed while at the gym. My averageness is wonderful for an hour of peace and/or people watching. I spend lots of time studying everybody else. Gyms are full of wonderful characters.

Anyway, the other night I left Todd to put the boys to bed and book in hand ran off to the gym. I was only 15 minutes shy of being done with my 45 minutes on the treadmill when a man came and stood next to me. I should mention right here that I am prejudiced against people who are solid muscle. I've never really cared for the look. However, Mr. Solid Muscle man came and stood next to me and said, "Look! The treadmill next to you is open! I get to walk next to you!"

Unsure how to reply, I said, "Hm, well, it's all yours then," and went back to reading.

He hopped onto the treadmill next to me and said, "I really wanted this one, so I could walk next to the coolest girl in the whole gym."

Seriously. I'm not making this up. You all have met me. Nobody upon first meeting me has EVER had that impression of me, I'm sure. So, I briefly glanced up at him, smiled wanly, thinking but not saying, "Has that line ever worked for you?", and went back to reading.

At which point he began talking to me about how he really likes to walk for a few minutes after a workout to loosen up because he's so tight. I swear I'm not making this up. I occasionally said, "hm," but kept reading.

He must have realized after about ten minutes that I was trying to ignore his babbling, because he finally said, "Look, I shouldn't have said that 'you're so cool' thing. That was inappropriate and I'm sorry."

I looked up at him and as only a true New Jerseyan can said, "Forget about it."

He continued to blather apologies. And finally I said, "Look. Don't worry about it, really. I don't care. I just didn't realize that it showed." Said with a straight face, btw. And then I stopped my treadmill and walked away with my book, to retrieve my coat.

No sooner was I pulling on the 12 layers of clothing it takes to get back home, when some woman whom I have never met comes up to me and starts telling me some saga about her ipod and batteries and a conversation with her husband and her workout.

People have this idea about people from NYC. They think they are rude and unkind. Hogwash. New Yorkers are wonderful and helpful, if you politely stop and ask them something. Otherwise, they are very happy to ignore you. If you walk down the street sobbing but not asking for any help, you can be happily ignored. I love this about NYC.

I realize that I expect my gym to be like New York. But it's not. It's Ohio. And usually the nice people keep their distance from me, but something about the other night changed it. Maybe I smiled too much. Maybe it's because I was wearing a brighter T-shirt. I don't know.

When I recounted the story to Todd, he asked why I didn't show the guy my wedding ring. (This is funny coming from my husband who doesn't wear a wedding ring.) I looked at him and said, "Oh, that didn't even occur to me BECAUSE I HAD A BOOK!"

Fellow gym go-ers, a plea: DO NOT interrupt the sacred reading time of a mother...or you may find a very hard book colliding with your "tight body".