I get that I’ve started my blog about my quest for fit-supah-stahhh-dom in January.
Mentally, I started in October. It just takes a hell of a lot of visualization to get from my cozy nest of complacency to …. actual movement.
I’m essentially in the January Joiners category. An annoying person who crowds the gym, takes up the machines, and will break up quietly with fitness somewhere around the 25th of the month.
Having said that, I am trying to nail down a lifestyle change. Really! Truly! And in that, I decided to break out of my treadmill & snowshoe routine (yes, my one-week routine) and try some of the nifty fitness classes offered at the community centre where I work out.
Zumba is supposed to be all that, so zipped out of work and skipped my duties of meal prep/foraging for food to the boys. I made it to the gym from work in time, changed into my workout gear and promptly chickened out. I ended up back on the treadmill marching through my 3 mile challenge.
The gym at night is a completely different animal. Not sure if I’m just witnessing the influx of the January Joiners or if it just is massive chaos in the evenings. People. Everywhere. I have crowd issues. Yikes. The saving grace tonight was watching the aqua-size class as I walked. The treadmills overlook the pool area including the kids play area, the water slide, the hot tub and the swim lanes. The aqua-size instructor was like an unbelievably animated KD Lang. Punching and kicking the air on the pool deck, rocking out to the music I couldn’t hear, all while her dutiful followers mimicked her exercises in slow-mo in the pool. Highly entertaining.
Of course, I hadn’t had supper, was getting tired, etc, so I figured let’s end this torture and actually run on the treadmill.
Bahahhaaaaa. SO WRONG. The minute I upped the speed and began to trot, I realized I needed a new sports bra. Dire need of a new sports bra. At the same time, my back fat started to move. MOVE, I say. I’ve got no excuse for that. I must have had so many layers on during the resolution run outside in the winter weather that nothing could possibly wiggle. Not so much in the gym.
Pride kicked in immediately. I couldn’t reduce the speed. What would the guy on the next treadmill think? (He probably wouldn’t care). But I also couldn’t hold my boobs in place like Ellen Barkin in Switch. (Back fat was on it’s own.) So I ran. Gotta hit 3 miles, gotta run. Then my right knee kinda got twitchy. Like, really. Every part of me was malfunctioning as I tried to look normal running on the damn treadmill. After several minutes of this attempt at running, I casually reduced the speed, nodded at the guy next to me and said, “intervals.”
I am such a weirdo.