Thursday, July 27, 2006

SWEATING AT A REDUCED RATE

Don’t ask me why but I’ve been to the YMCA four times this week – each time running for a full 15-20 minutes non-stop on the treadmill. 20 minutes may seem like nothing to you but for someone that just last night ate dinner with her hands so as not to backtrack to the kitchen – it’s a frickin’ marathon.

What’s not as bad as I thought is running. Don’t get me wrong – I hate it. It does not feel good at the time. My knees feel like they might explode. My hair sticks to the sweat on my forehead. My butt jiggles in a super bad and embarrassing way reminding me I’m not hot and twenty. I feel like Big Foot as my feet come pounding down one after another - left - right - left - right. But I keep running.

A few things I’ve found helpful in the running process: one is listening to my ipod on Volume 10 playing really really hard music. I need to be angry and pissed to run. Also – I need to focus on something outside the window helping me to get into a ‘zone’. This week it was a ladder attached to the roof of a Subway sandwich shop. I stared at the ladder. Stared and stared. I said something crazy and mean to myself I said, “If you stop staring at the ladder it will fall off the wall and hit someone and they will die.” A few times I diverted my eyes from ‘the zone’ and within minutes my inside voice took over saying, “Wait…you are running. This totally sucks. Stop this immediately. Go home and eat with your hands.” But I didn’t.

On my way out of the gym last week I overheard someone registering for the first time at the Brooklyn YMCA. This week I have been merely visiting the Brooklyn facility but am a member in Manhattan. As I listened I happened to hear what it costs to join this particular branch in Brooklyn and nearly had a cow:

(front desk – nice Jamaican man greeted me)

M: Yes miss.
K: Sir- did I overhear that it cost LESS to be registered here at this Brooklyn facility than the one in Manhattan where I am a member?
M: Yes miss.
K: How much less?
M: How much you been payin?
K: $80 a month
M: It’s $50 a month here
K: WHAT?!
M: Yes miss.
K: Can I switch gyms?
M: Yes miss.
K: I can’t believe that. What a rip off!
M: Yes miss. Haven’t you heard the saying: Don’t Dance With The First Girl You See?

4 Comments:

At 9:49 PM, Blogger jayKayEss said...

I am still shocked by how expensive the Y is... the New York Sports Club in Times Sq. is $80/month. Is the Y really that fancy?

 
At 3:00 PM, Blogger kaymaria said...

Have you tried the elliptical? It's a tight second in calorie burning to running on the treadmill.

I just can't run. My knees are shot. But I love me the elliptical...and loud music on my iPod. Surprisingly, Limp Bizkit's (that's right, I said it) song off the Mission Impossible soundtrack will buy me a few more extra minutes because it's so rage-y (other than that song, I think they suck).

We've got a subtitled TV that's viewable from the ellipticals but invariably the O'Reilly Factor is on when I work out which is bad enough but the subtitles, OH, the subtitles! When that townhouse burnt to the ground, they delved further into the suicidal guy's background and apparently he had a really rough divorce where he taunted his Jewish soon-to-be-ex-wife with Nazi artifacts but according to the subtitles, he taunted her with "Nazi arty facts". Nice.

Feel the burn,
K

 
At 10:05 PM, Blogger Take a Letter said...

It's actually even cheaper than that--my husband and I joined the Y here in Brooklyn, and for the two of us and any children under 18 in the household it was $861 for the year if you pay all at once. Don't do the month-to-month--you get screwed.

 
At 7:22 AM, Blogger M-m-m-m-m-m-m-Momo said...

I love his ethos. Heehee! Oh, Kdunk, you're a woman after my own heart. If I decide I've had enough exercise after a long three minutes and would rather go home and eat hotdogs ... and ice cream ... and down a gallon or two of Coca-Cola while watching Extreme Makeover or something, the only way I can make the step machine feel the paaaain, is to switch to Rage Against the Machine (oftentimes) really, really, loud. Peps me back in step every time.

 

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