E and I do a lot of things together but working out is not one of them. In fact I hate the idea of working out at all which is unhealthy and bad and I know it. Sometimes I think if I had a 'work out' buddy it would be more fun so once in a blue moon I blame him for this. Blame him for not coming with me to the gym. Yes you. You are to blame for this butt and these thighs.
I also blame all the great outfits. Everyone has these hot gym outfits and I’m always the one with the black cat hair covered leggings, low top orange sneakers and an old ratty Jane’s Addiction T-shirt from 11th grade. I’m convinced people around me are wondering who invited the ‘gym class extra’ from an old John Hughes movie.
My biggest problem of all (besides the butt and thighs) is that I always have gym panic when I go. I never know how to work all the gear and am too ashamed to ask. One time I was ‘working out’ on some complicated gym machine – something with poles, moving ski legs and twisting hips type motion – it was like being thrown into a rusty Cuisinart. The entire time as I plugged away at it I kept thinking, ‘This can’t be good for me. It just can’t.’ About 20 minutes later the buff gym guy behind the counter walked over and said, ‘Want me to turn that thing on for ya’?
Someone point me to the medicine ball.
Last night’s convo at 3am in the dark,
K: Let’s go to the gym together.
E: (sigh) Here we go again…
K: No seriously. I think it would be so much better than going alone.
E: Yeah. You’ve mentioned that.
K: Come on! It will be fun.
E: ‘Honey, grab your duffle and soap on a rope! It will be fun!'
K: Plus I never know how to work the machines.
E: So your saying your true motives are for technical support?
K: (flustered) Well...um..maybe.