Oh To The Gym I Go....

Many of you have been asking/sending me death threats/annoying the shit out of me, about where I've been the last few months, and when my next post will be. Well, here it is. I don't know how good it'll be since I'm a little rusty on the writing front and typing is a bitch since my arms are still shaking from the gym this morning. Yes, you read that correctly, the gym. Words I thought I would NEVER say, especially since the great fall of 2012. And that's where I have been living and breathing for the past 3 months. I'm sure you've heard the screams of terror from my neighbourhood when my alarm goes off at 4:50am, to get my now somewhat mid- size ass to the gym. And it's at this time at approximately 4:50am each morning, when I question the meaning of life, why I don't have heated floors, and then let out a loud "YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME."  But by 5:10am, after I fight the urge to dart into traffic on my walk to the gym, I get on that God damn stair climber.

In addition to working out, I've also made the insane choice to follow a low-carb lifestyle. Even typing that made me hungry. I've never looked at a piece of bread before and wanted to make sweet, sweet love to it, more than I do in this moment. Sometimes I just walk into the supermarket and sniff fresh bread and scurry over to the frozen food aisle to touch myself while looking at McCain pizzas. Then I walk home, do sit ups, eat chicken with a side of air for dessert, pop a sleeping pill and pray to God that my Nytol has the magic dual function of putting me in a light coma, while burning off all my cellulite. And facial hair. Then I wake up to the sad reality that nope, they don't, and I'm just really fucking tired and I hate my life more than I did when I went to bed. Whomp, Whomp.

I don't consider myself an observant person, and according to some, I've gone through my entire life with my head up my ass. But I have a given a lot of thought on the following things in the big, bad world of exercise.

Planking: Also known as "Really Shitty": This morning a woman who was about 328098 years old, pulled her mat up next to mine, took off her shirt and started planking. This in turn caused me to have a giant WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING moment, since she was actually old enough to remember what she was doing the day the Titanic sank, and no one that old she be planking. In fact NO ONE should plank. It's the worst exercise ever. Hey, why don't you hold yourself completely still on the tips of your toes and forearms. NO THANKS.  So, since I've developed a bit of a competitive edge since my weight loss, I dropped to the floor and did 30 push ups, (to show Mildred who's boss) which is 29 and 1/2 more than I've ever done in my life. I've dropped my phone about 14 times since my push up incident this morning, out of sheer lack of upper body strength coupled with an intense amount of shaking.

Doing classes at the gym: First, let me preface this by the fact that I attend classes at an all female gym. Have you ever looked at people's faces when they work out? Do they smile like this asshole? Um, yeah, probably not.

However, I attend a class every Wednesday night at my gym which is made for toning and sculpting muscles/dying a slow public death, and there are always the same 3 women that come to that class that like to let out a "Whooooo hooooo! Yeah! I feel it!!!" COUPLED WITH THE OCCASIONAL CLAP. Please God, Jesus, make it stop. I get it that the endorphins are pumping through your body, but you can't be THAT happy. I know this for certain as I watch everyone else's miserable my- body- doesn't bend- this- way- face, while we squat ourselves skinny.

(*Sidenote-I've decided to refrain from doing classes while I'm PMS'ing. On Wednesday, I nearly picked up my dumbbell and launched it at the skinny bitch in front of me, who had the giant gap in between in her inner thighs. You know, they didn't touch. I could tell that she's one of those bitches who has never experienced inner thigh chaffing, and in my eyes. if your inner thighs have not rubbed together and almost ignited your vagina on fire, I can't trust you.)

In this class we are also required to use poles, (not the kind of pole I used in university), free weights and mats, that other people have had their grimey hands on, and it seriously creeps the fuck out of me. Every time I touch gym equipment, I get a shiver up my spine and dream of cupcakes and penises. But I suck it up and do it in the name of being skinny. I mean let's be serious here, you never know who had the urge to scratch their vagina then lift weights. My friend Mel does it all the time.

The change room: Also known as "The Bush"  Now, I may not be one of those gals that walk around naked in the change room, and I never will be. I'm more of a slip into a snow suit and turn off the lights kind of gal, but if I was one of those gals that liked to air out her lady bits in public for shits and giggles, I sure as hell would keep that shit groomed. I know some of you are thinking "Well then don't look." How can you not??? 1. It's natural curiosity. 2. I fear for my safety.

BTW the fearing for my safety comment is completely legit. I was nearly killed in a walk-by nippling in 2010, while sitting innocently on the bench in the change room. It was a dark and stormy night, and I had leaned down to tie my left shoe before I dragged my fat ass to the treadmill. Then, suddenly a woman in her 50's appeared, naked and dripping from the shower. And "Oh Goody" I exclaimed in my head as her locker was RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. As she toweled off and I frantically raced to tie my shoelace, she leaned over, put her leg up on the bench and her nipple grazed my ear as she moisturized her legs. I've never been the same.

Those are just a few of the thoughts that run through my head while I climb, lift, lunge, sweat and walk my way to my makeshift Cindy Crawford body. Only mine has more cellulite and one of my boobs is bigger than the other. And please excuse my vulgarity, my sugar is low.

Peace Out,
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