Anyway, the woman on the phone said it was a part of being a new member at the gym, and it didn't cost anything. So I signed up... What the hell, right?
I showed up at the gym this morning, ready to stand on a scale and proudly declare that I am in fact, a FAT ASS. It's not like I don't know I'm a marshmallow. It's obvious that my Inner Thigh Clearance is in the negative. Oh well, I supposed it woudn't hurt to let one other person see the needle on the scale. Besides, I'm not going to be all squishy like this for much longer. It's a new year and I am jazzed about getting back in shape. It's been a shitty few years and I am ready to bring out the hottie who is still in here somewhere under this layer of blubber.
I signed up for a gym membership at work so that I could get back in shape. I have always struggled with my weight and as I have gotten older, had 2 babies and a total hysterectomy, it's definitely been an issue. As I waited for my appointment, I thought of years ago in college, I had a role in a musical where I needed to be measured for a Corset. I remember the tailor giving me the thumbs up when I measured a 36-24-36.
Wow, what a hot body! Of course I was 18-years-old and I had no idea how precious and short my time would be in that figure. Had I known about sagging boobs and stretch marks, I would have have spent much more time naked.
So there I am, standing in front of this 50 something year-old-woman who could probably hold a yoga pose with her leg behind her head while measuring every inch of me with her tape measure. She keeps talking about her road to success and how she is a Female Gladiator. Before and after pictures of her journey to the masculine clutter her desk. ... Soon enough she is yapping about being saved and how Jesus is the reason she is so strong and fabulous. I painfully nod and smile trying to be polite. She starts scribbling numbers onto a piece of paper that has my name on the top followed by the words WEIGHT TRAINING AND FITNESS PLAN.
I wonder if I give off some sort of vibe, indicating a desire to be a bodybuilder. Doesn't she realize, I don't want to look like some sort of tan womanesque balloon animal, freak show. I just want my ass to fit into the $90.00 Jeans I only wore a hand full of times 2 years ago. Come on.. Kelly will be on soon... I can't help but breathe an impatient sigh. She scribbles down a few more measurements and then shows me my new numbers. 42-33-40.
Uggh... 33 in the waist didn't sound SO bad but unfortunately 33 doesn't even count the 36" muffin top just 3 inches above where she measured me. I felt completely deflated. And now this Female, Gladiator, Senior Citizen Barbie knows just how much of a fat ass I am. I frantically try to think of a good point! Ok, my weight! It's all about the weight, right? At least I've lost 18 lbs this month! Never mind I'm completely starving myself... I'm definitely losing weight, at least I can hold onto that bit of accomplishment. Of course she had asked me my weight when I first arrived at the gym. I'd actually blurted 182lbs out like that was something to be proud of, but to me it sounded pretty good considering I'd hit the big 200 only 1 month ago, I was pretty excited to prove to the Gladiator that despite my muffin top, I have astounding will power.
We walk over to the scale. I have to wait my turn. A woman who is obviously nearing her due date is weighing herself, just for fun. As I step up on the scale, the Gladiator quickly tries to scramble up the little sliding weights so that I am not devastated by the fact that this skinny bitch and her giant fetus only weigh 136lbs. Shit...
As if that's not bad enough, her scale weighs slightly heavier than my scale at home. According to her scale, I'm 190lbs. Well, there goes my only proof of will power. Now I look like a liar and a fat ass. I notice I'm no longer sucking in my stomach and my shoulders are hunched ever so slightly. I plop down off the scale and follow The Gladiator back to her desk. I start to put on my jacket. "Not so fast missy!" GREAT... I can now see the paper on her desk, the one that is now displaying all of my rather large numbers, has a back side, only this time the top of the page says FLEXIBILITY! Oh dear God, No!
I took a few years of Gymnastics as a kid and I was actually on my High School Gymnastics team (only because I was related to the coach). I stretched and stretched on a daily basis. You wouldn't believe the things we did to try to achieve our maximum flexibility. Even in the most toned and flexible years of my life, I couldn't do the spits. Hell, I could barely bend over and touch my toes. So I knew immediately where this was going... The Gladiator had me contort myself into all sorts of positions. Every time I would try to do what she asked of me, she would shake her head and try to push my poor stiff extremities into the proper place for the exercise. To make matters worse, The Gladiator actually got down on the floor a few times to show me what she wanted me to do. Twisting with ease like a pretzel, she could carry on a full conversation while she was looking at me from behind her own ass!
Needless to say, I failed my body test. She even likened my strength and flexibility to that of a healthy 70-year-old woman. When it was finally over, I drug my untwisted, sore, fat ass back into her office. I collected my purse, what was left of my pride and my jacket. I was about to head for the door when something unexpected happened. I noticed an empty treadmill right next to the window. Without even thinking, I walked over to it and I hopped on. As I hit the quick start button and began my 40 minute walk, I realized why I came to the gym in the first place. Because I wanted to be there, I like to walk and Kelly was on. And she is really funny.
I wonder if I give off some sort of vibe, indicating a desire to be a bodybuilder. Doesn't she realize, I don't want to look like some sort of tan womanesque balloon animal, freak show. I just want my ass to fit into the $90.00 Jeans I only wore a hand full of times 2 years ago. Come on.. Kelly will be on soon... I can't help but breathe an impatient sigh. She scribbles down a few more measurements and then shows me my new numbers. 42-33-40.
Uggh... 33 in the waist didn't sound SO bad but unfortunately 33 doesn't even count the 36" muffin top just 3 inches above where she measured me. I felt completely deflated. And now this Female, Gladiator, Senior Citizen Barbie knows just how much of a fat ass I am. I frantically try to think of a good point! Ok, my weight! It's all about the weight, right? At least I've lost 18 lbs this month! Never mind I'm completely starving myself... I'm definitely losing weight, at least I can hold onto that bit of accomplishment. Of course she had asked me my weight when I first arrived at the gym. I'd actually blurted 182lbs out like that was something to be proud of, but to me it sounded pretty good considering I'd hit the big 200 only 1 month ago, I was pretty excited to prove to the Gladiator that despite my muffin top, I have astounding will power.
We walk over to the scale. I have to wait my turn. A woman who is obviously nearing her due date is weighing herself, just for fun. As I step up on the scale, the Gladiator quickly tries to scramble up the little sliding weights so that I am not devastated by the fact that this skinny bitch and her giant fetus only weigh 136lbs. Shit...
As if that's not bad enough, her scale weighs slightly heavier than my scale at home. According to her scale, I'm 190lbs. Well, there goes my only proof of will power. Now I look like a liar and a fat ass. I notice I'm no longer sucking in my stomach and my shoulders are hunched ever so slightly. I plop down off the scale and follow The Gladiator back to her desk. I start to put on my jacket. "Not so fast missy!" GREAT... I can now see the paper on her desk, the one that is now displaying all of my rather large numbers, has a back side, only this time the top of the page says FLEXIBILITY! Oh dear God, No!
I took a few years of Gymnastics as a kid and I was actually on my High School Gymnastics team (only because I was related to the coach). I stretched and stretched on a daily basis. You wouldn't believe the things we did to try to achieve our maximum flexibility. Even in the most toned and flexible years of my life, I couldn't do the spits. Hell, I could barely bend over and touch my toes. So I knew immediately where this was going... The Gladiator had me contort myself into all sorts of positions. Every time I would try to do what she asked of me, she would shake her head and try to push my poor stiff extremities into the proper place for the exercise. To make matters worse, The Gladiator actually got down on the floor a few times to show me what she wanted me to do. Twisting with ease like a pretzel, she could carry on a full conversation while she was looking at me from behind her own ass!
Needless to say, I failed my body test. She even likened my strength and flexibility to that of a healthy 70-year-old woman. When it was finally over, I drug my untwisted, sore, fat ass back into her office. I collected my purse, what was left of my pride and my jacket. I was about to head for the door when something unexpected happened. I noticed an empty treadmill right next to the window. Without even thinking, I walked over to it and I hopped on. As I hit the quick start button and began my 40 minute walk, I realized why I came to the gym in the first place. Because I wanted to be there, I like to walk and Kelly was on. And she is really funny.
No comments:
Post a Comment