So, I Just Got Back from My Quarterly Workout

And I was outpaced by a blind woman. Now, I know that being blind has nothing to do with how fast your feet can fly.  But still. There is no ego boost in being bested by a disabled person, no matter what the disability is. I had a water bottle in the little cup holder on the digital program display. She had a white cane.

She wins.

In high school, I ran an eight-minute mile. Today, I ran a 16-minute mile.  This is fair, I think, considering I am now twice as old as I was in high school. Also slowing me down is that my bra-size is twice as large. Have I ever shared the system I have in place for preparing to work out so that I don't accidentally knock myself out with an errant breast bounce?

No?

First, I get dressed in my normal business-like undergarments. They do not make pretty in this size. Oh, sure, you might get a tiny afterthought of a satin bow where the cups meet. But there is no lace, no frills.  And CERTAINLY no color. Nope. This here is a Soviet bra.

Then, on top of my normal sling, I strap on a sports bra.  This is no ordinary jersey-and-lycra comfy sports bra. This one has hook-and-eye closures. TEN OF THEM. I think it actually has more fasteners than my wedding gown did.

So, yeah, I have to double-up in an effort to get my breasts to stay put while I bound through my "run." Why the quotations? Because I'm pretty sure that my form, given my time, is the same as that guy who furiously pumps his arms while crossing the street against the signal, but isn't actually moving his feet any faster than normal. 

The Dawn of a New Era

I did it. I went to a gym, AND I worked out. This has not occurred since 1997. You think I am joking, but I am not. Actually, those of you who know my tubby self personally will not be that shocked. The reasons for this gap in gym history? Well, in 1997, I was still in college, and there was a pesky mandatory gym fee. Master of Frugality that I am, I couldn't abide paying for something that I wasn't using, so I went to the gym. Not every day or anything like that, because Yates* sucked an egg as far as variety and availability of equipment. But I hoofed it over there often enough that I didn't feel the fee was a waste of dough.

Anyway, the Boy's gymnastics classes have sprung anew. (HA! Sprung! See what I did there? Gymnastics? Sprung? I am such a wordsmith.) Tiny Tumblers is held in a county-sponsored rec center. Sheesh, just saying the words "rec center" immediately makes me want to hold a fundraiser or something. Weren't rec centers in 1980's television always in dire need of funding or they'd be boarded up, shut down, and burned to the ground?

Anyway...

The fee for a family package was extraordinarily low. Less than Super Ninja spends on comics in a year. Less than I spend on coffee for a year. This struck me as a bargain, and was the push I needed to finally, FINALLY, join a gym. The other push being that the Boy has enjoyed slapping my tummy because it "makes funny noises." He does this while I am in repose, which does not do much for my repose. Or my body image.

My return to the fitness equipment went pretty well. I did about 45 minutes of cardio. Jeez. I hate myself a little bit for that sentence. I worked with a bunch of fitness tools early in my career, and my pathological need not to join in group think woke up the dormant slob who didn't want to be like them. I still don't want to be like them, but I don't want to be like this either, so I'll get over it.

I did not do the cardio intentionally. I sat down on at a recumbent bike and it prompted me to make an exercise selection. I went for "Fat Burner." It presented me with many hills and valleys. I hated the hills with the white hot passion of a thousand suns. But I got through my 25 minutes, and moved onto a treadmill. Again, I poked "Fat Burner." Again, many hills and valleys, and again, white hot hatred. Okay, okay, I'm being a little disingenuous. I only hated the first five minutes or so. Once the endorphins kicked in, I was fine.

Translation: I'll go again, and I don't feel like I wasted the cash on the family membership. Huzzah!

It's Super Ninja's turn to go tonight. Wonder what he'll make of it? I'm half-expecting he'll get tangled up in the equipment.

*That picture is a lying liar when it comes to representing my experience of the field house. Georgetown totally revamped the place AFTER I left. This is third on my list of things I wish had been done prior to my matriculation. The brand spanking new performing arts center (with a fully loaded shop and costume room) and the existence of a theater major taking second and first place, respectively.