I Think I Can

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My lunchtime walking friend, known to regular readers as Worm Girl, has gone and done it. She has coerced convinced me that on cold rainy days (such as today) we shouldn’t just avoid our lunchtime walk all together. We should, instead, go work out in our company’s fitness center.

My god how I hate gyms.

Hate them hate them hate them.

I conceded the points that we need to mix up our workouts, and we need to continue to work out even if weather doesn’t permit. So today, I followed her into the fitness center where we took up residence on two separate treadmills.

I lumped myself up on the walking deck of a shiny new machine and poked and prodded at the buttons and geegaws.

To the left of me, a tall, young, lithe brunette woman running all out on the treadmill. To my right, a shorter, tiny blond woman with loads of attitude. Also running.

I didn’t come here to run. Hell, at this point I wasn’t even walking because I couldn’t get the machine to start. After punching at the up arrow key, the belt started up but it was quite slow, so I didn’t get on it. I kept jabbing at buttons and “hmmm’ing” and “ummm’ing”.

Blondie snapped at me “You should just get on it!”

I thought how easy it would be to insert my foot into the middle of her tiny stride and send her flying. “Whoops! Did I do that? Sooooo sorry.”

See, when I walk on the walking trail, there’s no turning it on. No fiddling with buttons or a recalcitrant machine. I simply walk.

Also, on the walking trail, snooty Blondie would just jog past me and our association would be over. But no, I gotta stand next to her for the next hour feeling inadequate and awkward.

Did I mention that I hate gyms?

In addition, Worm Girl further convinced me to sign up for the company’s annual “fitness challenge.”

Over the next eight weeks we have to get weighed and measured, attend classes, and participate in physical challenges.

Today’s challenge was to log our fastest time to run or walk a mile.

So I warmed up a bit and then cranked up the machine and galumphed my way along.

Blondie and Brunette looked in askance as I became the little curvy engine that could. I huffed and I puffed and by god when it was done, I had turned in a respectable 16:04 minute mile.

I couldn’t sustain that pace, so I did two more miles at a seventeen and a half minute pace.

And now my legs ache.

Did I mention I can’t stand gyms?






Image found at Bottomless Mimosa.


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Comments

  • Lucky

    The wife & I have a treadmill in our home for that very reason. Haaate the gym. Haaate snooty people. Just want to get the ol’ heart-rate up without being judged.

    ‘Course, the wife runs marathons, so she wants the freedom to sweat all over the machine and sing at the top of her lungs. I’m lucky if I can crank out an 18 minute mile now and then. . .

    • Karen Fayeth

      Lucky – I have had a treadmill at home for about a decade, but, sadly, the old hoss was a victim of the recent move. Just no space for it and with the free gym at work and the small free gym at the new apartments, it didn’t really make sense to bring it along.

      I miss it already. *sniff*

  • Electra

    I just discovered your “Juan Pelotero” story, but I think your comments were closed. Today is my first day working with high school students as part of the WITS program, and I was searching to find something to read out loud. I thought it would be fun to share a bit of New Mexican literature each week; reading is one of the most important ways to learn how to write! I’m not a very good speaker & I’m sure my Minnesotan accent would make the names sound horrible. Therefore, I was pleased to find your recording. I am going to play it for the students.

  • Anji

    Someone once told me the army marched at 4 miles an hour, so you aren’t doing too badly. I don’t think I could do a gym. French women are so chic, can you imagine how smart they would be? (and thin)

    Hope the rain stops soon so that you can do the real thing

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