Like most people still tied to their New Year’s resolutions, I went to the gym yesterday morning, a place I either love or hate. Some days the gym is like a comforting friend, encouraging me to be the best me I can be. Other days it’s a sadist inflicting all sorts of bodily torture on my poor, tired body.
Yesterday, the gym was acting like a good ole friend. I hadn’t been for a visit all weekend and it felt good to step up and on to the elliptical. Over the course of the next 60 minutes I lost myself in the music and the sweat…..but mostly in my daydream.
The daydream goes like this:
I am not just some 30-something mom trying to regain the body of her 20’s in Target workout capris and Nikes. Oh no! I am an elliptical instructor leading a class full of enthusiastic 30-something workout capri wearers in an hour long elliptical aerobics class.
First, of all. I’m not even sure that elliptical aerobic classes even exist. But in my mind they are very much like spin/cycle classes. In an effort to keep myself engaged in my hour long workout, I change up my routine with each new song. Maybe it will be a really intense, high resistance song. Next, maybe I’ll go for a lower resistance sprint. I carefully pick songs to complement each “routine.”
And in my mind --- I’m a chipper, smiling, tight-bodied instructor encouraging her class with such well known, obnoxious phrases as “you can do anything for a minute,” “breathe through your nose,” and “feel the burn!”
It’s great! My class loves me. They feel the burn and they will look great because of me.
Of course the reality is that I am sweating like the 30-something workout capri wearer that I am. 18 year old Skipper is to my right, sans sweat, smiling, and reading Cosmopolitan while she “works out.” To my left is a MAM (middle aged man) sweating so profusely that I seriously think he may slip off his machine.
So, I take a deep breath (in through my nose, of course) and get back to my imaginary class. With only 10 minutes left in my workout, I find my legs getting tired and my will getting weak. So, I scan through my iPhone for a pick-me up song.
Ah! Ha!
I found the perfect tune - an obscene song by Buckcherry. Something about a Crazy *itch.
But it works! This song kicks my butt into gear. I increase my resistance. I increase my incline. And I go, go, go!
About two minutes later I notice sweaty MAM staring at me.
Hum, I think.
He must assume I’m some sort of fitness expert – just look at me go!
I smile to myself.
Oh. He’s still looking at me. And is that a smirk on his face?
Wait! He’s motioning me to take off my headphones.
Doesn’t he see my wedding band?
“You are singing out loud,” he says with an unmistakable smirk.
“What,” I say.
OH.
OH NO!
The only words I know in this song are those in the chorus.
OH NO!
They are NOT nice words. Not nice at all.
Is it hot in here?
I smile demurely, quietly removing my headphones. Without looking up to see if anyone else in the gym has heard my karaoke, I step off the elliptical.
Gym – 1
Kelly – 0
I high-tail it out to my car, thinking that there must be at least half a dozen other local gyms still advertising New Years’ specials – maybe even one in search of an imaginary elliptical instructor.
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