Nice morning? Depends

Monday morning was another morning that I was running late. I was moving slowly and didn’t get to tan before going to the gym, but no worries, my Snooki spray-tan turned out disappointingly natural-looking. Who would have thought two layers of bronzer and one layer of spray would look this good? I was feeling fine as I walked in this morning, then I realized I had to renew my gym membership.

            There is a gym that just went up right next to my office, and I seriously considered joining, especially when I noticed that I would probably be the only one in the gym the whole time. That would be awesome. Wait, no, that would not be awesome. Who am I going to make fun of?

            So, long story short, I am paying an extra six dollars a month to get 24/7 access to creepy gym go-ers and a pool I swear I’m going to use someday. Hey, writers have to suffer for their work.

            Renewing my membership put me even more behind so I threw my shit into a locker and hurried onto the treadmill. I am STILL on the same interval as last week. I have told myself that I will successfully complete this interval three times this week and move on. I need to move on. I looked at next week’s intervals and felt short of breath just looking. That’s almost as sad as when I got out of breath halfway through eating a rather large cookie. Yes, that really happened. There comes a moment in every fat person’s life where you discover that you aren’t just having a little food craving, you are just eating like a pig. Well, that panting moment was one. Another moment was when I wiped my perspiring brow and pushed through the rest of the cookie. If only I had the same drive to push through my running. Damn good cookie though.

            I was worried going into today, because my dinner last night consisted of only wine. I know that is not proper fuel and is very dehydrating, so I tried to chug water while Trainer Twiggy McSkinnyAss tried to smile her way into selling me some packages. Was that jealousy talking? Yeah, she was actually really nice. Well, maybe someone will be jealous of me someday.

            I actually felt very strong today, and I can really tell my body is making progress with this training. I know this because I could listen to happy music while doing my 90 second running interval. Of course, for the three minute, I needed to step back to the angry music.

            It should be noted that not only do I have poor hearing, but this angry music needs to be BLARING to motivate me. This might be why the girl two treadmills down started staring at me. Or it could be the fact that my treadmill is shaking like a 9.0 magnitude earthquake from the impact of my massive body. Either way, this amount of staring was unacceptable. I do the staring around here, which is exactly how I get her to stop. I turn my eyes to stare at her. She instantly avoids eye contact, but I hold my stare until she meets my eyes again. Hold for five seconds, repeat if necessary. Guess who’s not getting stared at anymore?

            A variation of this practice is really effective for guys at the gym. I was stretching out one fine day after a workout, and was getting eyeballed by some juiced up doucher lifting weights. Now what is so compelling that he would tear his eyes away from working his pecks in the mirror? Back in the day I would have said he was admiring my fine ass, but the reality of these days is that he was more impressed by the massive sweat marks under said ass. Or maybe he’s impressed that a chick this big is still flexible. Big deal, so was Chris Farley. That didn’t work out well in the end.

            Whatever the reason, I don’t like it. I stare back. Eye contact is made, and I smile at him. He nervously looks away. I laugh to myself. He thinks that I think he is interested in me. He dares to look again and I give him a little nod with my smile. Nice, now his eyes are plastered to that mirror, even when I walk by and drop a “Bye” on my way out. I think he learned his lesson.

            Whatever your style, try it sometime when someone has a little staring problem.

Anyway, during my second interval, I start to feel strange. It was a tired feeling, but not that tired, I can’t describe it. I go into my last three minutes and my body goes into quit mode. At this point I’m just angry that I feel like quitting when I get so close. Why does this happen? I’m not in pain, I can actually breathe. I tell myself to enjoy the fact that I don’t feel like death, I should just do my run and stop being such a baby. I’m so close to finishing, my resolve should be stronger.

            During my last three minutes, I realize what is wrong. I have to piss like the dickens. Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be another jiggle in my wiggle, I experienced what felt like my bladder dancing around like jello. Oh my god, I just wrote about basically crapping myself due to diet pills, and now I need depends to go the gym. Well, the old Amy would have used this as a perfect excuse to stop running. I mean, no one wants to piss themselves on the treadmill right? Maybe that’s why the senior swim ladies feel so comfortable in the water. They don't make water-proof Depends. They don't need to. Ew, pretty sure I'm never using that pool.

            No, I have come too far. I finish my run, even though each step feels like I’m stepping on my bladder. I waddle to the locker room ohmygodohmygodohmygodshitshitshit and rush into the first stall I see. There’s toilet paper hanging off the side of the seat, do I go to another stall? No, too much time. I brush the paper aside and have a piss that’s better than cheesecake, and I really like cheesecake.

            Ah, much better. I go and finish my gym time on the elliptical. Back to the locker room I go to shower and change. As I strip, I notice all this white fuzz on my butt. All my workout pants are strictly black, so I’m confused. Then I see the strip of toilet paper. Damn. In my haste to the bathroom, I didn’t brush aside that piece of TP like I thought. I have spent the last 20 minutes with some leftovers hanging out of my pants. Well that’s real sexy.

            So I learned my lesson, no more red wine the night before a workout. Had I not felt the need to chug water beforehand, I wouldn't have come into contact with that TP.