Joined Gym. Didn’t Die.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have joined a gym.

I know. Even I was surprised.

I am possibly the least coordinated person in the world, and I don’t like to sweat. However, years of taking SSRIs to treat depression added about 30 extra (entirely unwanted) pounds to my frame. And if you look at my family tree, you’ll see that it’s more like a family shrub–short and stocky, like a dwarf boxwood. Since I just watched my father die from something that probably could have been prevented if he’d fought genetics a little harder and had a healthier lifestyle, I figure it’s finally time to get my ass moving.

So, I joined Michael’s gym. He thinks it’s a good way for us to motivate each other. I think it’s a good way for him to realize that I am decidedly not cute  when I work out, therefore squelching my ability to effectively use my feminine wiles on him. I know we’re getting married, and therefore, we should have no secrets, but seriously, folks–it ain’t pretty.

The gym was fine, and I remembered how to use most of the machines. I also did some light cardio and some weight lifting. The gym has a pool that Michael keeps encouraging me to take advantage of. He is fully aware of how clumsy I am, having had to rush me to the emergency room a couple of months ago, after I fell from a giant metal bird sculpture, and badly sprained both of my ankles. True story.  He thinks swimming is probably the safest way for me to work out, and he’s probably right.

I am currently using my new tattoo as an excuse for not getting into the water–chance of infection/flesh-eating bacteria/people peeing in the pool, etc. But really, it’s my fear of putting on a bathing suit that is standing in my way. It seems, somehow, less obscene for me to be completely naked than squished into a bathing suit, looking like this guy:

The Michelin Man

Maybe I’ll work up the courage to check out the pool at some point, but not today, for sure.

Overall, I felt really comfortable at the gym. There were people of all shapes and sizes and some of them seemed just as awkward and uncoordinated as I am. I have found my people, and won’t have to worry about looking like a dork.

Anyway, after the gym, I dragged Michael to Target so I could buy some bandanas to tie my hair back while I workout. This, I’m convinced, will make me look like a badass who is serious about the gym.

I dragged Michael with me because A) we were right there, and had to pass the store on our way to the Metro, and B) I’ve felt “spendy” lately and didn’t want to walk out of the store with an empty bank account and a cart full of crap I don’t need. Michael made sure I bought the  bandanas and nothing else.

“Find what you need, Axl?”

Funny guy. He’s lucky I didn’t do the dance right there in the store.

I am a child of the ’80s, afterall.  But maybe I should save all my sweet moves for the gym.


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