Seven days out of the gym makes one weak.
Or something like that.
I didn’t go to the gym once last week. I was feeling crampy and crabby and I just couldn’t make myself go. So instead, I continued working with the stability ball and free weights and yoga at the house. So I wasn’t completely inactive.
But there is just something about going to the gym. Even though I worked out at home I still felt guilty. I don’t really work up a sweat at the house and I associate sweating with real work.
So last night I went to the gym. Oh the gym. How I have missed the gym. I wrapped my new ‘do tightly and put on a ball cap, put in my earphones, hopped on that treadmill and walked/ran to my heart’s content. Thirty-five minutes, two miles and 364 calories later I had worked up a really good sweat and I no longer felt guilty.
There is a very interesting woman that comes to the gym. She has to be in her fifties, petite, perfectly coiffed and perfectly made up. At the gym. She gets on the treadmill and walks, watches FoxNews and talks on the phone. She never breaks a sweat. I find her fascinating.
Then there was the guy who was dressed for the gym, came in the door, hung out for a good ten minutes and left. His story? Personally, I think he left his house and told his wife/girlfriend that he was going to the gym. He just failed to mention how long he would be there and where he was going afterward.
My ex-husband used to do stuff like that. True story: He’d be on his way out the door and ask me if I wanted anything from the store. I’d say no. He’d come back three hours later with nothing in his hands. “I thought you were going to the store,” I’d inquire. “No, I was going out and I just wanted to know if you wanted anything while I was out.”
Just thought I’d throw that in there.