The "Y" to be exact.
It's been a number of years (read: 15) since I last set foot in an organized workout emporium of any sort (unless we're counting drunken roller skating or competitive eating, which I totally do), and the last time it was only to take water aerobics with 65 year-old women named Ethyl and Bernadette at the Duluth "Y". Yes, I was 24 years old. Yes, I thought water aerobics was "hard exercise". Yes, I was an idiot. But hey- I was still young enough that I didn't have to worry about what I looked like in a swimsuit, and my metabolism was such that "working out" was totally unnecessary anyways. I could eat a cheeseburger, fries and a shake 4 times a day and still lose weight. Now? Now I just see a picture of a french fry and my ass fat starts expanding at a rate of three inches per hour.
So far, this whole working out thing is going fairly well- I haven't broken any bones, and I've only almost fell off of the treadmill
...where was I? Oh yeah- the ipod/treadmill thingy.
So, I'm on the treadmill, going along at a pretty good clip, and I decide to fumble on the ipod for something more inspiring, musically. Suddenly, I kind of started listing to the right, and I started to lose my footing. Forgetting completely about that pesky "pause" button, I began flailing about oh-so-gracefully, looking for something to grab so I wouldn't go flying off the treadmill, cartoon-style. In my "challenged" state, I got the cord for my ear buds caught on my arm, and I managed to disconnect them, sending the actual ipod to the floor (which in this case was the treadmill itself), which in turn propelled it into the wall directly behind me, leaving a mark. I managed to finally find the pause button, only to look up- sweating profusely and totally red-faced- to see three different people looking at me like I
I also kind of forgot about the locker room at the "Y", but I was quickly reminded of how charming it can be within the first 3 minutes on my very first day. I went in to grab a locker, and there the reminder was: right in front of the door, standing under one of those hot air hand dryers was a 65+ year-old woman, naked as the day is long (on a side note: the whole "Brazilian wax" phenomenon does not seem to have caught on with the geriatric set. Nope.). I hope that my face didn't reflect what I was thinking, which was "Wow- I didn't know skin could do that."
Aaahhh, yes. The "naked" factor.
I'm no prude, and I totally have no problem with nudity, but when you're not prepared for it, even seeing the entire Brazilian Men's Soccer team unexpectedly nekkid would be
Yeah- who am I kidding, it freaks me out to see old people buck-assed (or nearly buck-assed) naked. There you go.
Oh my beloved YWCA, what other delights do you have in store for me? I can hardly wait to find out.
Happy Tuesday, my sweaty little aerobic leprechauns. Happy Tuesday.