I’m a gym dork

Before I share this story with you, it’s important to me that you understand that our gym is a huge labyrinth and I don’t go there as often as I should. Just in case, you know, you were thinking that maybe I should have a GPS device implanted in my head.

I’m not one of those poised, gently glistening women who look like they were born in a Step class. In fact, I’ve always felt enormously uncomfortable with physical activity in general and any sports that involve coordination or avoiding pain to myself or others. My school gym days were a time of tears and scarring that I’m still not really able to talk about. This means that I am a total dork in the gym.

My recent trip to the gym has left psychological scars – on me and the other patrons. I was doing well on the treadmill until I started feeling a little dizzy, so I moved onto a stationary bike that also has these arm-waving pole things. Since I was light-headed, I went pretty slowly until I realized I was on the lowest level of the treadmill/bike section, and all those marathon-runners above me could see my slow movement and pathetic work settings. I mean, at least when I was on the treadmill I could pretend that yeah, I was walking slowly, but hey, the incline was 150%! I was practically walking backwards, people! See the sweat?

The peer pressure got to me so I went into the locker room, changed into my bathing suit, and headed for the jacuzzi. After all, my overstressed muscles were bound to need a good soaking. I walked between the doors to the sauna and steam room and then walked straight into a closet. It looked just like the door to the pool except it doesn’t say “pool” in big black letters across the entire door. Which became evident to me as I walked around the sauna area and past a bay of lockers to find the right door.

In the sauna, there was some sort of volcanic bubble current that kept pushing me away from my husband and towards the legs of a couple of nice guys sitting next to us. I tried to hold on but there’s really nothing to grasp on a wet ceramic tile bench. The nice guys tried to pretend I wasn’t banging into their knees, but they finally gave up and went to another pool.

When it was time to go in and shower off, I found that I had picked up a towel too small to wrap around myself. I angrily told myself I am a beautiful woman who does not in fact have to cover up her body while walking through the pool area, and held my head high as I went to the ladies’ locker room.

Finding the showers, though, was a challenge. I could hear them running but I kept wandering into bays of lockers and smiling at the amused gym ladies. One time, I ended up back in the sauna/closet dead end.

When I finally got to the shower and peeled off my suit, I realized that I hadn’t picked up a bigger towel. That meant that I could slide my wet (and now cold) suit back on and go look for a towel, or just use the insufficient, wet (and now cold) towel I already had. I decided to wrap the towel around as much of me as would fit and let my hair drip down onto my un-drying body.

However, this is the point at which I really needed a GPS. I couldn’t find my locker. I wandered around for a while until I saw a path that I didn’t remember exploring while finding the shower. Surely this had to be my locker bay – I’d seen all the rest! So I triumphantly charged out of the dressing room and into the ladies’ weights area. All of those ladies were rather startled to see a half-naked pasty mom standing there turing red and dripping on their floor.

I didn’t even want to go back into the locker room and face the other ladies. I could have easily left all my possessions behind if I had the right sized towel around me, and it wasn’t wintertime. But all I could do is go back to my now easy-to-find locker. I turned my back to all the other ladies who were smirking and waiting for me to leave so they could laugh openly. That’s when it happened.

I slipped on my panties and then realized these were the old pair that I’d worn when painting my kelly-green bookshelf. The ones I was wearing when I accidentally sat in a tray of paint. The ones I intended to throw away.

And now all the locker ladies were staring at my bright green butt cheek.

Please make me leave my house

I have been struggling with a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week. Y’all don’t want to hear me whine but believe me, seeing my daughter’s spleen was probably the highlight. I just want to crawl back into my fluffy, cocoon-like bed and eat my giant sugar-filled chocolate chip cookie. Or half a cookie.

HEY, WHO ATE MY COOKIE?

The thing is, tonight is my very first night with a women’s book club. I don’t do things like book clubs, although I love reading and discussing books. In fact, I don’t do a lot of the things that other yuppie suburban women do. This is a first for me. And I really, really just want to crawl back into bed.

I have been talking firmly to myself. I say, self, you know I have a strong need for more female friendship. I really love the book we’re discussing, “The Time Traveler’s Wife”, by Audrey Niffenegger. I know about half the women in the group and already like them. I have already picked out an outfit that is neither too dressed up nor consisting mostly of athletic shoes and terrycloth. I will wear makeup.

Still, I don’t want to be social today. I sometimes have a hard time with estrogen-related activities; after one saccharine-sweet baby shower I had to go home and have a scotch on the rocks as an antidote. And most of these friends are in the same life stage as a lot of my blogging buddies: they have cute little kids who say the darndest things and are exasperating and kind of cuddly all at the same time. I am at the velociraptor stage of motherhood. They seem harmless but then there’s the screaming, and the running, and the bloodshed, and the horror…and I may just scream out RUN! Run for your LIFE! Don’t you know what those cute little things will BECOME??!

Thanks for slapping me. I’m better now.

So OK, I know I need to take a shower and get out of my house and stop brooding over my stressors. Could one of you come over and lock me in the bathroom till I’m presentable and then drive me over to my new friends house? I’m sure I’ll have a good time.