So my first day at the gym went off well, no harm, no foul. My friend and I decided to do a 30-minute class. I did it because I didn’t want to look like a moron wrestling with the weight machines that were neatly placed in a circle around the main floor, convenient for the entertainment of the other patrons, but not so flattering for me, as I tried to figure out where to place my limbs. The instructor was great, immediately identifying me as the newbie, no doubt by the look of panic on my face as I realized that if I wanted to get a piece of equipment, I would have to shove aside the elderly, rather buxom lady who had planted herself firmly next to the treadmill. Luckily I didn’t have to resort to such under-handed tactics, as the instructor, seeing that her class was about to erupt in chaos, decided to assign equipment to each person. In the kerfuffle, I lost my friend, who ended up several machines away from me, thus rendering her unable to help me other than with worried looks from across the room. I climbed up on the treadmill I had been assigned and got started. It would have been fine, I’m sure, had it not been for the setting on the machine. Apparently the person who had used it before me fancied herself to be the energizer bunny, because once that thing got going, the only thing that saved me from falling off in pretzel pose was that the instructor rushed over to me. I’m sure it was less to save me from embarrassing myself and more to avoid potential liability issues if I broke my face in the first ten minutes at the gym. Nevertheless she calmly informed me that the treadmill was controlled by my feet. Well, duh. But who would control my feet? Anyway, I survived that monster with my dignity intact and everything was going well until it was my turn to sit on a contraption apparently designed to work the muscles in your back. Well I wish that someone had told me, because when I sat down and put my arms and legs in the appropriate position, nothing happened. Trying to look as if I knew exactly what I was doing, I pulled this way and that but nothing happened. The lady next to me, the one I had contemplating shoving out of the way earlier, must have been a mind reader, because I could have sworn I saw her smirk when I turned to her looking for help. She mumbled something unintelligible, probably that I should watch my back next time I came to the gym. Luckily the 45 seconds allotted to each machine was over. The next few were alright, but when the instructor came to remind me to keep my toes up on the leg curls, I got distracted by her nipples which were staring at me condescendingly through her shirt. I must say that despite my misgivings I enjoyed the class and will definitely be going back.
My never-ending quest for permanent weight loss finally landed me kicking and screaming in a fitness club. Okay, so I wasn’t actually kicking or screaming, but it did take a lot of cajoling to get there. I love the people that work in these places (sarcasm intended). They are so transparent in their attempts to reel you in. The lady that was helping me was clearly new and throughout the whole process, she kept trying to convince me to get my husband to join too. Now I must point out that this was a women’s only gym, so of course I was perplexed. She did mention afterward that they had co-ed clubs as well, which did nothing to quell my irritation, seeing as we were there to talk about me. She then proceeded to tell me that I had to be assessed, so that I would know exactly what my fitness level was. And that I would have to pay for it. I could have told her that my fitness was negative on whatever scale they used. I could have told her that for free. But she insisted that they had to measure every inch of excess fat, and my body mass index and how much weight and how many inches I had to lose. I tried to tell her that if they did all that I would probably go home and kill myself and then how would they get their monthly dues. But the newbie was tenacious, she would not let go until I agreed. So now I have to come up with excuses to go and exercise on the sly, without having her hound me about my fitness assessment. Oh joy! Luckily my friend came with me and saved me from what might have been the first fitness club murder in my neck of the woods. She proceeded to show me how to use the menacing equipment that lined the walls. I’ve had nightmares in which I’m flying off those things in mid-stride with nothing to hold on to but the sports bra straps of the unsuspecting woman exercising furiously on the machine behind me. All in all, it was a morning unmarred by catastrophic events, but there’s still time. I plan to go back, so all I can say is watch out people.