It will happen on a breezy day in December, when I will be living in paradise (or a shitty desert town, you never know) and the temperature will only reach into the 50s. The locals will be bundled up in sweatshirts and coats, whereas I will be sporting my ruffled leather jacket unzipped. They will shiver and whine, and I will turn into a true Midwesterner and tell them that they are all babies because “they don’t know what cold is.”
They will then ask, “What is winter like in Iowa?” They will become starry-eyed and gather around, like I am going to tell them about Santa and sugarplum fairies. Like I will fill their minds with lovely childhood memories of sledding and making snowmen and snow angels.
But no, I will be honest with them. If they want to know what a winter is like in Iowa, they need to find a dark, cold closet, such as a walk-in fridge or a meat locker. Then they must sit in there in darkness as someone turns on a dim light for a few hours a day, fiddles with the fan, turns up the temperature to the point of comfort before plunging it back into freezing. Then snow drops on you, and it’s beautiful for just a few moments, but then it doesn’t stop. It also doesn’t go away, and you are so tired of looking at it, but you have to sit in it until it becomes crusty and dirty. Keep this up for about six months, or until you blow your brains out, whichever comes first.
But then they are still getting out of driving, so the simulation is not quite complete.
Anyway, needless to say I hate winter and I’m going to be really happy when it’s over. I’m looking forward to not having to put on layers of clothing just to drive to the gym in the morning. I’d like to believe it will be easier to get out of bed when it’s not so dark and freezing.
The one good thing about the dark morning is that the treadmill area is dimly lit. There are a few areas of the gym that are clearly dependent on the large windows for their light. I enjoy running in the darkness. Well, I use “enjoy” loosely.
I was” enjoying” myself a few mornings ago in a nearly deserted gym. The New Year’s Resolution-ers have reverted back to their careless ways and it’s just me, the fitness Nazis and the old-timers again. Those New Year’s people may be gone, but they have left their mark. A lot of machines have “out of order” signed posted on them. Clearly, they are not used to the high traffic. I steer clear of these machines if possible until Handy Hank gets around to them, as I don’t want him to get around me.
I’m on my favorite treadmill in the corner for my daily dose of disappointment when a light catches my eye. Since it is dark where I am, I can clearly see that the lights in the workout studio are on. The lights are triggered by motion, but there are no classes going on at this point. I get excited, interesting things happen in this room when people are by themselves with long mirrors. One day, I spent an extra twenty minutes on a spin bike because one very white middle-aged woman fancied herself a hip-hop dancer and was trying some MC Hammer moves. Trying and failing. I would have laughed had I not been so out of breath.
So who’s in there today? I am shocked to see a woman enter in my frame of vision. She is about 5’6’’ with a bad perm and very high platform heels. She is wearing a top that is halfway between a sports bra and a swimsuit top. She is also wearing bikini bottoms that showed off her tan ass cheeks, bikini wax and her obvious daddy issues.
Despite the stripper heels, I’m not sure this woman was a stripper. That was the confusing part. She would strut on her heels to one end of the studio, then put her hand on her hip, shift to one side, and check out her backside. Then she would strut to the other end and tense up her body and scrutinize it further. Back and forth, back and forth. Isn't she cold? I didn't even want to take my sweatshirt off in this gym. Even the crazy fitness ladies who normally wear tennis skirts have traded up for some pants today. As she turns around and shows me her front half, I see she certainly is cold. Wow, you are bold my friend. Bold or something.
I understand there could be several explanations for this. First I thought she could be in a pageant and she was checking out her body for the swimsuit portion. I don’t want to be unkind, because this chick was clearly in good shape, but she really didn’t have a pageant body, or a pageant look at all. She looked kind of rough, like she was maybe ready for Miss Kentucky, but we are a long ways from there. Maybe Miss Council Bluffs. And if the camera is unforgiving and adds so many pounds, this girl’s going to be up for Miss Congeniality at best.
Then I thought she might be into body building, but she wasn’t really ripped either. It looked like she might have been on something, but steriods weren't it. Also, I don’t think they make those girls wear hooker heels as they flex. Her body was really inbetween the two types.
“Was there a pole in there?” Josh asks me later. I roll my eyes and he becomes impatient. “Well was there?”
Thank god, no, because as I was starting to feel like a creeper, I turned away. I turn my head to the left and notice the two elderly men who are fixed upon her with sleazy, drooling smiles. Their panting was not because of their treadmill use, which had slowed down to an agonizingly slow pace. Gross. It's uncomfortable seeing guys who are older than your father shameless oggling a girl. Even though I'm no better, I instantly get irritated. Then I flash back to some of the sights I’m treated to with the senior swim class in the locker room and I understand their desperation.
I know my time is coming. I will never look like Miss Slutty Strutting America and I’m headed in the looks direction of the senior swim class. And my husband will be the gross peeper on the treadmill. Such is life.
Good luck to you, Miss Slutty Strut, in whatever and whoever you are doing.
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