You Talkin' To Me?

It was my first time. I walked in with trepidation. Who comes here? Will I fit in? Will I want to come back? Because I need to want to come back, in order to come back.

The first people I encountered were older. They were sitting around drinking coffee, and playing checkers. Their table was full- no room for me, even if I wanted to join them. I got a few hesitant smiles from them, then they went back to their conversations about what coupons were in yesterday's paper.

I walked into the main room. It was virtually vacant. I grabbed a spot and started doing my thing. I concentrated on my work and made eye- contact with no one. Because where I come from, eye contact is not really welcomed by others.

An older gentleman walked up to the space beside me. When he spoke, I looked around to see if he was talking to me or one of the other 5 people in the room. "So. . . you new around here?"

Yep, he was talking to me. I responded with a breathless, "Yes, we just moved to the area."

"Welcome, then. Hope to see you at this gym again. I'll let you get back to your workout." And he walked back to his friends and the checker game. I think I saw money exchange hands, but I'm not sure.

The gym I went to for 5 years was really nice. There was a wide age range, with most of the people being in their 30s and 40s. There were tv's on every cardio machine. There were seperate rooms for cardio, weights, abs, stretching, etc. I loved it. Everyone was friendly, but not so overtly friendly that they would interrupt your workout- especially if America's Next Top Model was on. Well, except this one woman. . .

My new gym, well, is different. I'm definitely in the youngest age group. And that's including the children in the nursery. There are 4- yes- 4 tv's in the gigantic room. And most of the channels are set to QVC, which is strange because most people aren't even in the room- they're playing checkers. If you step off of a cardio machine, you basically bump into whoever is doing weights behind you. To stretch and do abs, you find a mat and squeeze in wherever you can fit.

But, I love working out. I can't afford the gas to drive to my old gym, so I'll be staying at the new place.

The talking to me during my cardio, my quiet time, my stress relief, though? It's got to go. And if I have to pretend I'm listening to an invisible iPod to make it stop, I will.

Try me.

And The Winners Are. . .

Just My Type and Amy at Memories and Musings of a Mommy . Congrats! You know who Jeff Galloway is and proved my husband wrong. Woohoo to you!!

For those of you who don't know who he is, I'll tell you- although you probably either a.)don't care or b.)already googled his name and now know.

Jeff Galloway wrote the book that convinced me that I could train for a half-marathon and eventually a full marathon. When I first started to get interested in training for long distance running, I read his book Running religiously. His books give easy to follow training programs, and covers every aspect of running. If you are even slightly interested in beginning a running program, I highly recommend his books.

And now for something completely different. . . kinda.

When Maddie and I go to the gym, she always asks me what kind of exercises I'm going to do. One day, a couple of months ago, I told her that I was going to run. She told me that she really wished that she could run with me and asked why she couldn't.

There is an indoor track at my gym that very few people use. I checked with the staff and they said that it was fine if she went up there, as long as I stayed with her and kept her out of everyone's way.

So, that has become our ritual. We make sure there aren't many people on it, and go run/jog. I use that time as my warm-up. She usually runs 1/2 mile without slowing down. We have fun. And, it's something that I hope she continues to like, because it would be so cool to have her for a real running buddy.

Today, she led us in our stretches. There were a few older people on the track, but not too many. She started running. If someone was in her way, she would switch lanes without being told. If someone was coming up behind her, she would move out of their way. All was good. Some of the older people even told her how well she was doing. Some clapped their hands and said, "way to go!"

When we were done, this really old man approached us. I thought he was going to tell Maddie something sweet, cause that's what most 80 year old people do. I was mistaken-

"You know she's not supposed to be up here. It's 10 and up. Only." And, he was mean about it.

"Well, I asked the people at the desk and they said it was fine, as long as I kept her with me."

"NO. 10. And. Up." Then, he had the nerve to point to the rules sign. Yes, there it was. 10 and up.

I wanted to pinch him. But, he was wearing green, and I didn't think I could get away with it, otherwise.

He had just informed my very astute daughter that her mommy was breaking the rules.

And, that's just mean.

One Lesson At A Time

If you park in the side parking lot of my gym, you will see a way that you can cut across and save, oh- I don't know, 30 whole seconds. You can just shave off one entire corner, and cut through the grass.

So many people have done it, it has caused the grass to turn brown and die. In one straight line. It looks terrible, so the gym administrators erected a small fence to prevent people from walking in the grass.

Maddie wants to cut through, every single time we go by it. I never let her, even though people still do it. All. The. Time. I'm getting tired of explaining why they can do it, but she can't.

On Friday, we were casually strolling on the sidewalk. A lady brushed past us, and almost knocked Maddie down. She was talking on her phone, and obviously, didn't have time to glance down to see the 3 1/2 foot person in front of her.

She decided to ignore the fence and take the shortcut- like I said, it does save a whole 30 seconds. It had been raining. You know where this is going, don't you?

Her 4 inch heels got stuck, and she twisted her ankle. She let out a squawk, and went flying. Landed right in a big mud puddle. Her once beautiful, green suede, knee-length coat was now brown. Mud brown, I would call it. Her Louis Vuitton bag was emptied into the puddle. Her perfectly styled hair, now had streaks of mud decorating it. Her dignity was spread all around her.

I stopped and asked her if I could help. She actually started screaming at me. "NOOO! THIS IS DISGUSTING! NO. DON'T. TOUCH. ME. WHY ME?!?!" Um, look, you crazy woman, this is not my fault. Stop yelling at me. I might have wanted to push you down, but I didn't. And, I haven't passed the course in moving objects with my mind, yet. . .

I didn't think it would help matters by telling her that it happened because she was in too big of a hurry and tried to walk through mud in 4 inch heels. I offered one last time to help. She got up and shook the mud off of her phone. Opened it up and strode away. Yelling into the phone, the whole time. Nice lady.

"Mommy- That was disgusting."

"Yep. That's what happens when you walk through the grass."

And, the light in her little head went off.

"You aren't supposed to break the rules. Right, Mommy?"

"That's right. Never break the rules. Bad things happen when you do. Remember that."

I'm going to keep brainwashing my sweet little girl, for as long as I possibly can. At least until she figures me out.

Hopefully, it'll be when she has kids of her own.

The Best Day

Yesterday, at church, our preacher told us to think about the best day we've ever had. Was it the day you were born? The day you started walking/talking? How about the day your child was born? The day you were married? The list went on and on. Then, he said to take a couple of seconds, turn to whoever is next to you (Justin), and tell them.

Simultaneously, we said the same thing. The day Maddie was born.

Then, the preacher said that he could tell everyone what their best day was. It's today. Today is the only day that we are living in right now, might as well make it the best one possible. I decided that it's worth a shot.

After fixing Maddie a breakfast of a banana and some cheese cubes ( I know, I know- but if it's going to be my best day, I'm not fighting with her over her breakfast choices), we headed to the gym. All of the ellipticals were taken, but it wasn't a big deal. Today is my best day. I just did some free weights, until one became available. Next, I decided to stretch and do abs. Every mat was taken. Today is my best day. I found a corner that wasn't taken, grabbed one of those cheapo mats, and tried to stretch without getting plastic rug burn. Today is my best day.

I decided to shower at the gym, since I had such a tight schedule this morning. I walked in, and there were no naked old ladies standing aroung, chit-chatting. Hooray- Today is my best day. I start washing my hair, lots of sweat equals lots of shampoo, in my book. A lady calls out, "Excuse me, lady in the shower?" How exactly do you respond to that? I hoped she didn't want me to share my shampoo. "Um, yeah- over here." In her cheery voice she informs me that a water main had burst and they were shutting off the water, immediately. Today is my best day?

Ug. My hair was full of suds. I started trying to rinse it out, and the water pressure was getting weaker and weaker. Best day? I still needed conditioner. I put some in, mixed it with the soap suds, and stood closer and closer to the shower head- sure that someone with a staph infection had done the same thing. It may be my best day, but it sure won't be my best hair day, I think to myself.

We left the gym and headed straight to Maddie's playgroup. The kids were on their best behavior, the coffee was hot, and I got to hang out with some of my favorite people.

Yep, today is my best day. But, I can't wait for tomorrow.

Because a day with a completed shower can only be better.

Wake Me Up!

You know that dream where you are in a crowded room, and you are the only one naked? Okay- now reverse it and that's what happened to me today. I was the only one with clothes on.

I decided to shower at the gym because I had a dentist appointment nearby, and it just made more sense. I walked into the empty locker room, got my stuff ready, and headed for the showers. As I was taking a shower, and thinking about how awesome the water pressure was, I started hearing people talking. Apparently the water aerobics class had just let out.

I finish my shower and get dressed in the little area right outside the shower. I walk out and head to my locker. Oh my. There were 4 old women standing right in front of my locker. And they were all naked. Just standing there, having a conversation. No clothes, no towels, no problem.

I am not a shy person and nudity doesn't bother me. I change clothes in front of my friends. I will even change clothes in a locker room, in front of strangers. But, I DO NOT stand around naked, talking about the weather and if Macy's is having a sale this week.

So, I say excuse me, and walk to my locker. Will my boobs sag that much when I'm 70? Should I disrobe and join in the conversation? You get wrinkles there?!? Must. Firm. Abs. I reach in my locker to get my shoes, and as I'm turning around, I see one of the naked jaybirds sit on the bench. Without. A. Towel.

I couldn't get out of there fast enough. And, as I was leaving, I made sure I grabbed a schedule of classes.

From now on, if I have to take a shower at the gym, I'm making sure it's no where near the time water aerobics lets out. I've had enough sagging boobs, varicose veins, and bare butt on the bench, to last me a looooong time.

Gym Cliques

When I go to the gym, one of the biggest things that I notice are the different groups. We have the PTA moms. "Are you going to be able to help next Friday? You know it's the Fall Festival, and we really need all the help we can get. . . " There are the cardio queens, taking up the machines for hours at a time. "Can't. . Talk. . Need. . Water.." Young, muscled meatheads, mixing up dangerous concoctions of protein drinks and Red Bull. "Dude, I like just benched like so much more than you ever could, man" The loners- well, it's just me.

And I've never wanted to fit into any of these groups. The only one I'm interested in joining positively reeks of exclusivity. You can spot them at any given time sitting around the coffee station.

They smile at everyone, even if you are not quite ready to join their group. Most, but certainly not all, come with their spouses. And when the time comes, they walk to the exercise room together. That's right, they have their own class. Throughout the gym, they have signs on the trips they plan on taking. Recipes are posted for anyone to take. Potlucks happen about once a month.

Dangit, I WANT IN!!

I'm active. I'll be 30 in January, so we know I'm aging. Can I please join the Silver Sneakers?

Big Mouths Meet Big Ears

I'm a gym junkie. I usually work out 4 or 5 days of the week. I honestly think it makes me a better mom. I have my hour or so to get all those endorphins pumping and when I leave, I'm in a better mood and ready to face the day and the endless questions of a 3 year old.

I'm not a private person, by any means. I can usually find a way to start a conversation with anyone. However, at the gym that I've been going to for over 2 years, I know less than 10 people. And most of them work in the nursery where I leave Maddie. I simply like the time by myself. I go, get on the elliptical/treadmill/bike, plug in my headphones and hope no one talks to me. And while the other gym rats recognize me, and I them, they really know nothing about me. But here comes my secret- I know all about them. You see, I don't turn the volume on. I eavesdrop on every conversation I can.

Yes, that's right. I simply can't help myself. It all began innocently enough. I got on the treadmill, the 2 women beside me all but stop talking. Ignoring them, I plug in my headphones. What's wrong with this stupid thing? Isn't America's Next Top Model marathon on? I can't hear anything. Grr. The volume is broken. I don't take the headphones out b/c that's just asking for conversation. And I wasn't having that. Just as I was about to find a different machine, I heard this-"Well, I can't go on Thursday or Friday. I'm having my boobs done on Wednesday. Maybe next week?"

So I stayed on that machine (and found out who paid for those boobies)and the bad habit was born. I know whose son was caught with drugs and whois raising her granddaugher as her own. I also know who really, really likes her trainer.

Not all of what I find out is gossip. Some of it could prove to be quite useful. I know when and where the best yard sales are. I know which are the best preschools in the area. I even know who to call for the best bargain botox you can get.

But I can't tell you. It's classified information.