A new place

            Things have been kind of monotonous at the gym. I go in regularly, I work out, I never seem to have enough time even when I’m there, but things have been running pretty smoothly. I haven’t had toilet paper sticking to my pants in a while. No boobs have been popping out of a shitty sports bra. Hanky Hank pretty much steers clear of me. Even random old people are starting to be nice to me.

Honestly, it’s starting to get a little weird.

             I’m trying to do new things, and one of things I really enjoy is the spin room. It’s always dark in there and I’m alone. I can pretend people aren’t looking at me through the glass as I pretend not to be looking at them. I can really zone out in there. The only time I really start to panic is when people come in and out to use the drinking fountain. I can never figure out why they would come in there, since there is a perfectly good one right outside the door. Why do they have to come in and make me paranoid that they are actually going to cycle with me?

            But, they just fill their bottles and move on, and I’ve even gotten comfortable with that, until a couple of days ago when I was chugging along. This elderly man darkened the door of the spin room. He just stood there, frozen. I only saw him out of the corner of my eye at first because I was timing my ups and downs on the bike, two minutes standing and one minute down. There was thirty seconds left and I was trying to tell myself that my ass wasn’t on fire.

            I realize this guy might be surveying room. He might want to join me. Oh god, I know the whole gym doesn’t belong to me, but I really just don’t want Old Man River in here making it rain.

            I finally lock eyes with him and he smiles at me. I tear one earbud out of my ear.

            “That is a good workout,” he says.

            I stare back at him blankly.

            “Keep it up!” He says and throws me a thumbs up.

            I smile and give a confused wave as he turns around and leaves the area. Thanks... I guess? It was kind of encouraging to know I was doing something right.

            Later, in the locker room, I am putting on my make-up. Again, I am very self-concious when people are around me because I feel like I have to pack my whole life with me to the gym and I don’t want to be “that bitch that has her stuff spread all over the counter.” I try to keep my towel, my makeup bag, hair dryer, straightener, and brushes all confined around one sink. One of the senior swim ladies shuffles by me and washes her hands next to me, even though there are two free sinks on the other side of her. I instantly start mumble apologies and shove my things closer to me, even though half of it starts to fall in to the sink.

            Surprisingly enough, she smiles at me. “Oh dear,” she said, “Do you always go straight to work from here?”

            I say yes.

            She shakes her head. “My goodness, dear, you are dedicated. Good job,” she says and walks away before I can respond.

            It was a couple of interesting moments. I was surprised that after all this time, someone had noticed. Even though I’m in the gym as early at six or seven in the morning sometimes, I seem to be one of few who are going straight to work. Most of the senior swim ladies act like they’ve never worked a day in their life, and it’s almost heresy to do so. I know many of them spent their lives being mothers and that’s not easy, but I’m insanely jealous of the abundance of time as of now, and how they act like they have it so bad, or had it so bad. I almost tore my hair out one time because this one younger one talked about “the worst day of her life.” Apparently, the worst day of her life was when she had to shovel the driveway because her husband was out of town, and she had two kids at home. That’s it. No “my kids were starving and I had no husband” or “I had to shovel the driveway because my kid had a massive head wound and we had to go the ER.” Nope, just shovel with two kids watching from the window.

            So yes, that and the complaining about their hair possibly getting wet (you’re in a freaking swim class) and remarks about my underwear (yeah, I don’t forget), I’ve been bitter. But it’s nice to see these ladies have a soft side.

            So it appears I have finally found my place among the people of my gym. So, I’m going to throw that all away.

            My husband has lost a considerable amount of weight in a quick amount of time, as he is notorious for doing. He has been playing racquetball with some co-workers. I always lament on how I wish I could have “fun” workouts such as a racquetball game or a softball game. But, due to my lack of athletic ability, these games aren’t usually a good workout and they make my blood pressure rise in frustration. I have not played racquetball since my few pathetic attempts during freshman year of college. My husband resumed playing with his best friend even though he almost lost his eye during a game with him. However, he did not enjoy playing with me because I got so angry with my shitty playing.

            But, I decide to give it another go. When I told Josh and I wanted to play with him, he smiled and said I could play with him after he plays with his co-worker, Eric. I said that I didn’t want to make him play two games if he’s already tired out. Josh smiled and said, “it will probably be better that way.” I opened my mouth to call him an asshole, but realized it was true.

            I met Josh at the club he has been frequenting and had been pushing me to join. I walked in and immediately noticed a table of folded towels. What? I don’t have to take a giant beach towel that will take up my entire bag? Yes, I pack beach towel because they are the only towels that are big enough to wrap around my entire body comfortably. Sometimes if they are not clean, I have to take a small towel and I get to choose whether to show off an ass cheek, a stretch-marked upper thigh, or some lady parts. With those choices, nobody wins.

            I am shown past numerous tennis courts, volleyball courts, a large lap pool, a running track, a cardio area with all new machines, and of course, the racquetball courts of future shame. Most of the gym is empty. I then enter a large locker room. There is a vanity table for hair and make-up. There’s a steam room, lockers, a shower area and a bathroom area. But what are these changing stalls? What? I can change without some old bag calling me a whore? Nice. This is a self-conscious cranky bitches' wet dream.

            I turn around and see some middle-aged ladies. Oh crap, this gym is in an area of town that has old money, and I’m sure these ladies are snooty as hell.

            But one woman smiles at me. “Your green shirt is so pretty on you. It looks great with your pretty skin and eyes.”

            Wow, what took one year at my old gym took five minutes at this gym. Sure it smells like old wood and sweat (mind out of the gutter, people) but we are joining!

            I am so excited I run (ok quickly waddle) up the stairs to the courts to Josh. Racquetball was a pathetic beatdown, but I expected as much. What I did not expect is seeing parents storing coolers of beer outside their daughter’s volleyball tournament when I went back this weekend. I had never wanted children more.
           I don't see any drawbacks to new gym at first glance, well not significant ones. They do have classes, but they are during working hours. But, we all know I won't be hitting those up anyway. The only other gripe I have is that the place is HUGE and has a lot of stairs. After a game of racquetball, I can barely climb the three different sets of stairs it takes to get the entrance. But, this could also be good, because no matter how pathetic my workout is, these stairs will make me work to actually leave.