The new gym in our town has finally opened its doors.
|Can I take this on the|
treadmill with me?
My girlfriend Laura and I decided to go over there together this morning, as both of us were feeling first-day-of-school jitters. My jitters may have also been a result of excessive coffee consumption. In fact, Laura made a joke about the juice bar having a Starbucks and I GOT ALL EXCITED!!! until I realized she was making a joke. We don’t joke about the Starbucks, Laura.
We finished the tour and went our separate ways. I stayed with our tour guide and my new Beefcake Boyfriend, Wes, who replaces my former Beefcake Boyfriend, Sean (owner of the sassy red leather bag that he claims belongs to the woman with whom he shares a desk.) Here’s the thing though; I was all witty and charming when I was signing paperwork in order to join. I am hateful and mean when it comes time to actually work out.
Wes took me to a torture chamber equipped with floor-to-ceiling mirrors which now have my sweaty handprints streaking down them. Picture me as a high-healed, adolescent, poor-decision-maker in a slasher film, trying to claw my way out of a precarious situation and leaving bloody handprints on a wall in an effort to save my very life. It’s the same, except with sweat. Because he had me do so many squats, it now hurts to pee. I’m probably going to develop a urinary tract infection because I’ve been “holding it” since 9 am, but it’ll all be worth it if I don’t have to do another squat.
Working out does not bring out the best in me. I’m sure that Wes is a very nice young man. And for his sake, I hope he has high self-esteem, because I am NOT very nice.
|BoyMommy! Are you all right?|
Are you all right?
In fact, I told him that I hate him.
I actually used those words. “I hate you.” And I said it more than once. It was not my finest moment. I even thought about flicking him off, except I was trying to concentrate on not rolling across the floor courtesy of a certain giant medicine ball. The other patrons who just happened to be working out in the same torture chamber were staring at me, no doubt wondering if and when Wes would begin performing CPR, given that my face was beet red and my body was so shocked by the threat of physical activity that it was actually refusing to sweat. That ain’t right.
Furthermore, I could not speak in complete sentences. “I’m. Gonna. Just. Go. Getta. Sippa. Water.” I’m pretty sure that’s an early warning sign for Stroke.
Laura is in great shape. It could be – and I’m just throwin’ this out as a possibility – but it could be because she can do arm exercises with weights heavier than my infant. Or maybe because she doesn’t eat Hershey Kisses for breakfast. OR MAYBE because she doesn’t leave the gym and drive directly to Starbucks, where she orders a Venti Peppermint Mocha.
If I have to give up my Starbucks, I may just lose the will to live.