I’ve given up on spinning. After that one class, I could barely walk for almost a week. And I mean, barely. It hurt to sit, it hurt to stand, it hurt to sleep, it hurt to move. I was miserable. Not worth it. So, I’m happily back to running.
Normally, I run outside, but this central Florida heat makes it really hard this time of year. At 6:00 in the morning, it’s already 80 degrees with insane humidity. And at night is no different. Since we’ve joined the Y, though, I’ve been going up there to run almost every day. It feels really good to be back in a running groove again. In fact, I start to look forward to my runs the night before. My legs get twitchy and I pretend they are thoroughbreds prancing and gets feisty before they are led into the starting gate of a big race.
I have a vivid imagination. And sometimes I drink before bedtime.
Running on a treadmill is very different than running outside. It’s a little bit easier, but it’s a whole lot more boring. Since the unspoken rule at the gym is not to stare at other people while they are working out, there’s not much to do. Lucky for me, our treadmills are up against a window, so I can see outside. OR, I can PRETEND to see outside, but can instead be staring at people working out. That’s MUCH more interesting than squirrels.
I run for about 45 minutes at a time, which can get a little monotonous. So, the last few times I have gone to the gym, I have made a little “observation schedule” for myself while I run on the treadmill. Here’s how it works:
Warm Up (3-5 minutes): Play with my music, play with my earbuds, play with the settings on the treadmill. Check myself out in the window and tell myself how super hot I’m going to be by the end of summer. Like, supermodel hot.
10 minutes: Check out women at the gym. I look at their clothes, especially. And their sports bras, which are magically cute and somehow part of their outfit without being slutty. I’m trying to make that happen, but so far, my sports bras are broken or something. Status: NOT ACHIEVED. And I try to see if they have belly flab that they have tucked into the waistline of their work out capris, like me. And I try to figure out how they get their hair to look sexy and sweaty at the same time, which remains a huge mystery to me.
They look like this:
I look like this*:
(*Not an exaggeration. I have the same hair and belly.)
10 minutes: Check out men at the gym. I especially enjoy the gay men. Gay men at the gym are a married woman’s heaven. We can check them out, they can check us out, we can giggle across the room at each other if one of us catches the other doing something silly (like that one time I dropped my water bottle and tried to pick it up off the floor while still running on the treadmill… Not one of my better life decisions…). And yet there is no threat there. It’s lovely.
10 minutes: Watch old people work out. This intrigues me to no end. I might move this up and give it more time in my observation schedule. Those old farts GET. IT. They come in wearing their regular clothes. Who needs to waste money on work out clothes? They take their time, they flirt with all the young, buff 20-somethings. They work slow, but get that work out D-O-N-E. I bow down, old gym rats. You guys rock.
Cool down (3-5 minutes): Watch the fools in the spin classroom and gloat about how much happier I am on a treadmill.