I went to the gym today for the first time in months. I have no excuse other than that working out is not my Me Time. Watching Hulu and eating my kids’ Halloween candy in my own empty house is my Me Time.
So you always know you’re at the gym in Johnson County when the middle-aged moms with their large fake breasts and manicured fingers are significantly fitter than the actual trainers. I saw one mom today that was like a muscular skeleton in head to toe Lulu Lemon, chiseled midriff bared for all to see. Lest you think I’m body shaming, I’m not. I am always the first one to say, “Damn girl, those legs are hot!” or “I just have to tell you, your body looks amazing!” As I type it out, I’m now realizing these unsolicited comments might actually be sexual harassment. Like, what if I was randomly commenting on men’s fitness levels?
Me loitering outside the men’s locker room: Yowza, Champ, I see someone’s been squatting. Noice!
Man: Ma’am, please go home. Not because you’re sexually harassing me but because you used the word “noice.”
Today a girl in the locker room asked me if I’d tried the Pilates class. I said, “To be real honest with you, I just ate two breakfast tacos but my 3yr old begged to come to the play center so I’m going to be sitting in one of the cycle chairs barely moving my legs while I read Girl On The Train.” Since we were talking, I asked if she could see my butt through my yoga pants and she politely took a gander. I think maybe she assumed I was embarrassed to ask because she said unprompted, “I totally get it! I always wear two or three sports bras because I’m so afraid of nipping out!” As she was talking I was pulling my sweatshirt off over my head and we had a bit of an awkward moment when I turned toward her and my nipples were practically making eye contact with her through my hot pink tank with the “built in bra” that’s really just one extra thin layer of fabric and a rubber band. Sorry everyone but I don’t even wear padded bras in real life, I’m not wearing one to the gym. Deal with it.
I went over to my chair-bike and an elderly man came and sat in the one directly next to me. Whenever someone does this I immediately suspect they are silently challenging me to a race. Which is a bizarre reaction considering we are pedaling chairs to nowhere while we listen to Beyoncé in an air conditioned room with twelve TVs. This isn’t Cross Fit; clearly neither of us are out for blood.
So back to the Turbo Moms. You see them in packs leaving the mid-morning group classes. There are certain classes that attract the Lulu-Lemon-clad-skeleton-body-builder moms which I avoid at all costs. Then you have your dance-step-aerobic type classes and what-have-you that the regulars attend. Whenever I’ve tried these classes I always walk in feeling really smug. When everyone lines up facing the mirror, I look around and think, look at me, I’m 5’9″ with a normal BMI in the prime of my life; good luck keepin’ up with ME, GRANDMAS! Then 7 minutes into it I am wishing I had a medic alert bracelet because they are kicking my ass. Never fails. So I don’t do classes anymore. I was recently discussing this with my sorority sisters over pizza and Rosé and I said, “You know, I’m actually deceptively unathletic…” and my sorority sister said, “it’s not deceptive.” Apparently someone forgot who dominated one match of Greek Week sand volleyball in 2004, ah-thank you.
So I’ve determined that these Turbo Moms must enjoy working out, and I just don’t and never will. Before I joined a gym I was like, if I just had a treadmill I’d be so fit. And then we got a treadmill, but I thought, when I’m a stay at home mom I’ll workout all the time. And then we moved into a house with a nice gym in the basement that came fully equipped because the previous owners didn’t want to move it. So now I have my dusty treadmill in my new home gym and a gym membership with a daycare and STILL I have not worked out in months.
On the bright side, I’ve been writing this blog on my phone as I move my feet on the pedals and I actually have a faint mist of perspiration on my upper lip causing me to look like if Hitler got a tan and decided to shave his mustache on the last day of vacation. Time for a mini Snickers from the jack-o-lantern bucket.
This has been Gym Thoughts with Mrs. Kansas Mommy.