You Better Work… Outon August 14, 2012 at 5:00 am
I think I’ve finally realized that laying on my couch, eating chips and dip… as steadily as I breath, is not going to get me into shape. There’s just something that feels mildly unsettling in complaining about my lack of fitness, while the remnants of chewed Doritos bounce around in my mouth.
I’ve given some thought to joining a gym, for decades. Something always seemed to come up, though… usually the money that could have possibly been earmarked for a gym membership seemed to continuously find its way into Jack in the Box‘s cash register. Sneaky move, Jack… sneaky ass move.
Last week Hubs finally took matters into his own hands. Following the deposit of our paychecks into the bank, he drove straight to the gym… making sure to follow a route that did not cross paths with any type of establishment that offers food. He entered the main office, threw one of our credit cards towards the person at the desk and yelled “TAKE OUR MONEY BEFORE A CHEESEBURGER DOES!” Our money was happily taken and together we made our first journey into gym-land, that night.
My first experience wasn’t that bad. In fact it was good enough to completely reel me in. When we got there, it was comfortably empty. I could approach all of the cardio machines without that pang of “How the funk do I use this contraption???” I think a lot of females have a similar type of machine-anxiety… I can’t speak for all y’all… but I know when I walk up to an unfamiliar machine, I feel a little bit panic-y. Nobody wants to use a machine “wrong” … because then all the gym OGs will be staring at you, wondering why you’re doing the running man… backwards, on the treadmill. Starting out, minus an audience, was definitely the best thing that could have happened to me.
The next morning I awoke, thinking about the gym… spent most of the day thinking about the gym and spent the drive to the gym, thinking about the gym. I knew this was probably a good thing. However, day 2 brought a new-found annoyance into my life. The annoyance that is the skinny girl who pretends to work out…
I’ve already seen my fair share of these, in my time spent hunkered over an elliptical machine. She’ll flit around from machine to machine. Not taking anything seriously at all…. except her glow. She takes her glow very seriously. She will saunter to a treadmill, wipe down every inch of it… turn it on and stroll on it for about 87 seconds. The elliptical and the stair-climber get the same treatment. I honestly believe that more time is spent sanitizing the equipment, then actually working out on it. She always seems to end up right in front of, or right next to me too. While I’m trying to go as hard as I can, without breaking myself in half… while the sweat is pouring like a river, down my face into my sports-bra smushed cleavage… while I’m trying not to let my asthma attack be too noisy… this bitch is flitting.
So, Dear Chicks that are Quarter-Assing it at the Gym:
Go home… or go to Walmart… or go to the bar. Leave the real work to the women.
Sincerely, Kim and any other chick with sports-bra influenced smushed boobies