All the Horrible Girliness

It took a long time for me to feel like I belonged in the gym. When I first started working out, at nineteen, I wouldn't call it that. I called it walking the dog. I took this spastic mutt out for what can only be considered "walks" by the schizophrenic. The dog didn't have nearly the stimulation he needed in life, so these excursions looked less like walking than like Johnny Five in a city for the first time. Input, input, input! Every damn tree and rock had to be smelled and peed upon; every scurrying thing in the grass had to be inspected; every other dog's asshole had to be sniffed. There was nothing cardio about it. The most exercise I got was from yelling, "Rudy, GOD. Stop it!"

Then, when nobody was looking, I jogged. Only for a few feet. Then I'd see someone, or a car would pass, and I'd slow down to a walk. I was certain the people were clucking to themselves, "That ugly fat girl is trying to lose weight. How cute."

I finally got over myself enough to jog a bit, and when the weather got cold I got on the treadmill or stairmaster at the gym, and I copped a little attitude. Surely I, with my obvious fat, belonged there more than the skinny chicks in makeup who chatted up trainers the whole time. I was putting in my time, man. Sweat poured down my face and soaked my clothes.

Now I'm back to worrying about what they think of me at the gym. I'm on the treadmill doing my wicked 4.0 mph while the chick sprinting on the machine next to me, in the size zero sweats that say "cutie" across the ass, looks at me with contempt. She probably isn't even looking at me. She's probably making sure the guy on the other side of me is paying attention. But when I'm doing 4.0, it's all about me. And I'd like to explain.

So if any of you here go to the 24 Hour Fitnesses at South Coast or the University Center, or live in my building and go to the little gym downstairs, I have an announcement to make:

I usually run, okay? Usually my music is really super hard and I run. I ignore the pains and I enjoy running them out. I also go to spinning classes. I can spin circles around most of you thinner broads. And also I could kick your ass, because I'm a kickboxer. I've known more sweat and dirt, not to mention bruises and blood and pain and injury, than you'll dream of. But I had to give it up for awhile because I got pregnant and sick and I'm just now coming out of it and now I'm FUCKING OUT OF SHAPE again, and I wish I had a dog.

Okay? Shut up.

posted by Samus @ 10:02 PM