A Girl Walked Into A Gym...

Today I decided to end my week-and-a-half long hiatus from the gym. I had decided to boycott working out in response to realizing that we have to leave Germany in less than six months. I considered going on a hunger strike, but I do love my food, so a gym strike was the next best thing. As reality set in, I did what any slightly neurotic girl who lost her euphoric sense of denial would do...say “f you” to working out (I mean, why let endorphins get in the way of a really good depression?!?!) and indulge in an exorbitant amount of Pez. Yes, I said Pez. I am an 80’s child. Don’t judge. They contain less calories than chocolate.

So after ten days of wallowing in my depression, randomly throwing easily broken objects at the wall, and desperately trying to reclaim my sense of denial, I decided to get my lazy bum back in gear, take all the empty wine bottles to the recycling center, and divert some of my aggression to a poor, unsuspecting elliptical machine.

To backtrack a little....while we were in Dallas in April, I would spend a good two to three hours at the gym every day because my husband had class all day and the hotel room got a little claustrophobic after a few hours. Normally my Ipod serves as my main distraction from how much I dislike working out...that and attempting to read the lips of the various commentators on CNN or Fox, whichever channel may be on based on the particular political predilections of whatever gym I am working out at. Really, I sometimes wonder why they even have TVs at gyms. You have to have the eyesight of a Mantis Shrimp to see what the heck is going on (Seriously...Mantis Shrimp have awesome eyesight...look it up)! Needless to say, the Ipod and lip reading only provide sufficient distraction for an hour or so. Any more than that, the headache sets in and boredom overrules any motivation I may have managed to dredge up! I found that reading while working out helped make those two or three hours pass much more quickly, so the second love of my life..my Kindle...became my new gym partner.

Back to the present day...
After a week of indulging in my sulk and aforementioned bottles of wine (okay, there were only two...and a half...), I was totally unmotivated to return to the gym. So I brought my gym buddy with me to hopefully make my return a little less painful. I decided to start reading Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, which was our squadron book club’s selection this month. The meeting was tonight. Yeah, I’m a wee bit of a procrastinator, which is why I was at the gym and not at the book club meeting...but I digress...

I trot over to my elliptical of choice, power on Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, and begin to read. Big Mistake. Big. Huge. I about died. Really. I don’t know how I finished my 90 minute cardio session. I don’t even know how I managed to stay upright. I was gasping for air two minutes into the book. By minute five I was receiving dirty looks from my fellow no-lifers who were also at the gym at 7:30 on a Friday night when the big 2010 World Cup kickoff par-tay was going on in downtown K-town. I couldn’t tell if I should be horrifically appalled, squirming with embarrassment or shamelessly amused! Oh Dear God....who writes about that kind of stuff?!?!?! Especially when it is supposedly autobiographical! If it weren’t for some of the accompanying pictures, I wouldn’t believe any of the stories! I’m not sure I even believe them WITH the pictures! Does stuff like that really happen in real life?!?! I don’t know, I don’t care. It was the most entertaining gym workout ever. Ever.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure my fellow gym goers would agree. I was THAT person....like the guy in the corner of the weight room with the purple face and veins popping out, grunting at every hoist of the dumbbells. No dude, you aren’t cool. Everyone here just wants to punch you in the face. I’m pretty sure I was emitting noises that sounded something like a snorting wild boar, a braying donkey,  a cross between a cat in heat, a hyena on speed and a snorting wildebeest. Fortunately, my Ipod drowned out the noises so I couldn’t actually bear witness to the humiliation emanating from my mouth. You have no idea how hard it is to try to stifle hysterical laughter and attempt to stay upright while in the midst of gluteal program 1, intensity level 8. It requires more coordination than I generally possess.

Between the exercise-induced and Chelsea-induced endorphins, nothing could get me down. Not that fact that it was about 140 degrees in the cardio room. Not the fact that we have to move. Not even listening to Shakira’s “Waka Waka” song on five different stations during my seven minute drive home. I mean really FIFA....you made THAT your official World Cup song?!?! She sounds like a cracked out Muppet! I want to waka waka myself in the head every time I hear that song. Especially because they play it on the radio here about 50 million times a day. Yes, I know we are all excited about the World Cup. Yay team Deutschland! Soccer may be bigger than beer here in Germany. Yes, I said it. I may need to go into the witness protection program now, but that’s okay. Maybe I won’t have to listen to Shakira anymore.

So while I am still pathetically sad that we have to leave Europe, and by tomorrow I will probably be back to throwing inanimate objects at the walls, at least I got my humor fix today, and I’ll probably be riding this Chelsea high for awhile. I clearly have no problem finding humor at the expense of others! She is clearly a willing victim...or has no self-respect. Not sure which. Regardless, it made my day! Thank you Chelsea for giving me back a little bit of my bang!

Waka Waka.