I Am Officially A Statistic

Hello dear friends.  Sad day around here.  The Mister took #2 to the airport early this morning.  Even though it was 4:20 AM, my girl came in to snuggle with me before she left at 5:00 AM.  If you're reading this, #1, and I hope that you are, I miss you too.  The Mister and I have learned that we need to be equal in everything; whether it be a pair of Uggs or a melancholy sentiment.

Yesterday, I officially became a statistic.  I went to a  gym for the first time in twenty years awhile during the first week of January.  My #2 loves to work out.  She gets the gene from Mister, who not only enjoys working out , but also likes bragging talking about it.  I just don't get it. 

When #2 came home for Christmas, she joined a small local gym for a month.  She went religiously and came home raving about how nice everyone was to her.  She took classes and enjoyed every one of them.  She adored Wendy, the owner, who is "your age, Mom."  #2 urged me to go with her and I finally relented on the last day that she was home.

My home-away-from home for 2 weeks.

For anyone thinking, what kind of mother is she - not going to the gym and spending quality time with her daughter?  You're right, but it was only for an hour.  Apres her workout, we went to her favorite place for lunch, Whole Paycheck Foods, every day.  We only missed one day - Christmas, because it was closed. 

Back to the gym story.  We took a class called Body Toning.  Sounded pretty simple - at least it didn't have the word extreme in it.  About 30 women attended.  All ages, shapes, and sizes.  They all seemed nice.

We entered the room and the women hustled from one station to another to pick up the necessary gym equipment for the day.  That was a workout in itself!  My hands were overflowing with a mat, kettlebell, steps, square things for under steps, pole and weights.  I whispered to #2 how long is this class anyway?   She answered me with an eye roll.

A woman in her early 20's approached me donned in sports bra and yoga pants.  Her body looked like it should be on the cover of one of those magazines with articles like:  How To Get Great Abs In 4 Days.  She  actually looked airbrushed.  I never knew that people actually looked like that!  She introduced herself as Caitlin and she was the instructor.  

She asked me how long it had been since I worked out.  I'm standing there in a white cotton turtleneck and Adidas pants from the 1980's that are 2 sizes too small.  Take a guess Caitlin.  I dare ye.

I turned to #2 and gave the biggest eye roll in history.  And then it hit me - now I know where the girls get the eye roll thing from!  Eye muscles need exercise too!

We started with jumping jacks.  Then we fiddled with the kettlebell a bit.  Every one had either a black or blue one.  My buddy, Caitlin, took my black one away and handed me a yellow one.  It weighed about as much as a hard boiled egg.  Thanks for the vote of confidence,  Caitlin.

About every 2 minutes, Kaitlin would look over at me and in her loudest, most concerned voice ask me "Are you ok?"  Has she never seen a woman with a contorted face the color of a tomato clutching her chest before?  I looked at her, gave her an indignant yes, and turned around and gave all my new bff's-to-be an eye roll.  They chose to ignore it.  Lucky I'm not sensitive. 

  

Before I knew it, we were doing push-ups.  Hundreds of them.  Caitlin kept losing count!  I kept having flashbacks from Unbroken.  I looked over at #2 and gave her another eye roll.  She looked away and pretended not to see me.

Finally, the class was over and it took another 20 minutes to put our mounds of equipment away.  On the way home, #2 pointed out the fact that even though Caitlin has great abs, she cannot count.  It's no wonder she's in such good shape.

There are a few things that I discovered about myself from this experience.  I realized that I don't like being the new kid.  I'm glad that my #2 was there to guide me through the equipment choreography.  

The other thing is, and I have known this deep down all my life but refused to acknowledge it, is that I hate to sweat.  And I hate other people's sweat even more.

  

Last but not least, forget a runner's high, I actually get a high from an eye roll.  Who knew?


Have a great weekend!