Lessons learned 2013. Not, you know, deep meaningful lessons ( I learned those too) but blog lessons...

PART TWO or The Gym Edition

 

1.      Avoid the Stairmaster. Now the first time I saw the Stairmaster at the gym, I thought it looked a bit above my skill level. It is huge and seems to be mounted on some sort of stage, maybe not, but it towers above the other gym equipment so I passed it by, thinking, “that looks like certain failure and if I am going to fail at the gym, I would rather not be suspended from the ceiling where everyone can see me”. So I went about my normal workout on the super-cool-compete-against-everyone-bike and strange let’s-pretend-we-are-cross-country-skiing-devices. I worked hard on these apparatuses and began to think that I was getting back in shape finally (after recovering from my body’s latest attempt at sabotage).  

Then I had the pleasure (that’s not sarcastic it is always friendlier with sisters) of going to the gym with my sisters who let’s be honest already look amazing in their work out clothes and are quite the little gym professionals. As I got on the bike, I watched in the mirror as my oldest sister ascended the Stairmaster. She killed it! She was keeping a fast steady pace for a good half an hour, 40 minutes.

A few days later, my sisters left L (because, you know, they have jobs or some other such nonsense) and I was back at the gym on my own. My bike and slidy thingy were busy (because it is the New Year and now everybody is back at the gym). I eyed the Stairmaster and I think to myself, “If Michelle can do it so can I!” Common last words of the third born child… I awkwardly try and make my way to the top of this contraption so I can reach the buttons to make it start. What I didn’t realize is once you step on it, it starts moving so you have to keep stepping while trying to punch in all the numbers it is demanding  you enter. What I also did not realize is how often I look at my feet when climbing stairs. I was unaware of this until the Stairmaster is flashing lights demanding the input of various numbers while I trip up the steps that are now moving. I finally get it going and begin.

I try for slower pace just so I can get used to it and avoid falling on my face. (Let’s remember I am in the center of the gym on some sort of platform. There may have even been a spotlight on me. I have no idea why we must worship the Stairmaster but none-the-less this gym REALLY likes it or maybe the Stairmaster is just really tall?? I don’t know, either way I am center stage.) I have been going for about a minute but my pace is not matching my running music, which annoys me, so I increase the speed. Now I am flailing trying desperately to stay on the damn thing and my legs have gone from burning to jelly. I look at the timer it says, 4 minutes. As the steps fling me closer and closer to the ground, I desperately slap at the machines large red stop button and it comes to a screeching halt. And then, of course, it starts moving again even though the large screen is flashing PUSH START TO CONTINUE!! PUSH START TO CONTINUE!!  I have now drawn the attention of half the gym so I try and look relaxed, as I gulp in air and force the vomit to stay in my stomach, while continuing to trip up the escalator from hell. I look at the nonexistent watch on my wrist and mouth numbers to make it look like I am calculating something. Hoping the staring gymers will all think I intended to only do 4 minutes on the Stairmaster. I then must try and extricate myself from the death machine while having lost all feeling in both legs (picture Bridget Jones getting off the bike at her gym). I stagger around the gym while I wait for my vision to clear from the strange dancing spots and spinning. Simultaneously,  I avoid the concerned looks of seasoned gym goers wondering if they should call an ambulance. So the lesson here is: my sister is a kickass Stairmaster champion and she will never be beaten.

2.      This is not really a lesson but a desperate plea for 2014. To the skinny perfect girls at the gym. Umm could you stop coming? Why are you coming in the first place? Why would you spend money to get on MY bikes, put them on the lowest gear and then chat so loud that the entire gym can hear your conversation? Just to let you know if you are able to carry on a conversation that loud for that long you are NOT getting a workout. So why must I be subjected to the dangers of the Stairmaster AND your ridiculous conversation about fattening foods and “OMG I ate so much yesterday!!!” while your bony ass sits on MY bike that I sweat blood on, when you could have gotten just as much accomplished at your local coffee shop? And as a bonus, you would have saved your voice because you wouldn’t have had to shout over the whir of the machines. Sorry, I am sure you are really nice? And I have no problem with skinny people sweating and running their asses off (literally). But don’t come to my gym in your cute little outfits, stay for an hour and never even break a sweat or get out of breath. It’s really insulting. Thank you for your attention now go about your perfect skinny lives.