The perils of gym going PART ONE!

So, I joined the gym at my university… While I am glad I did, it has presented some problems. Because it is 45 minutes from home, I must plan ahead. Now this may seem straight forward, and experienced gym goers (Marleen I am talking to you) may be confused at my ineptitude. My first problem is I have to park on campus which means I have to park a mile away from everywhere. And I have no shoulders. I do not know why but, when I place a bag over my shoulder, it promptly falls off. When I look in the mirror I appear normal not, as the endless slipping bags and purses indicate, a 1920s circus freak. “Step right up ladies and gentlemen – see the terrifying, mind-bending freak lady with no shoulders!”

Anyway, so now I have to walk a mile with bags of clothes, shampoo, water bottle, three towels (one for the hair, one for the body and one for sweating). Plus various offerings to the beauty gods, such as: Hair dryer, straightener and, of course, Moroccan oil. Otherwise, no matter how much heat I apply to my hair, the beauty gods think it is funny to watch as the day progresses and my hair expands 'till I look like my daily job is checking electrical sockets are working. So, Moroccan oil to wrangle it into place.

Then I need my school bag. I am usually running late so I park and then take off jogging towards the gym. Now, the reason I joined the gym is because I hurt my Achilles tendon running so, about three steps into the jog, I must stop. But I am still late so now I look like a speed-walking homeless person with all my worldly goods slung over my non existent shoulders. People have to give me quite the wide berth as my various bags swing randomly from their perch and threaten them. I am angry at my shoulders at this point so people are also giving me a wide berth because I look like I might be trying to hit them with my wildly swinging bags. I arrive at the gym and throw all bags on the floor in front of reception. The young, large-shouldered, golden goddesses behind the counter look at me sideways, sure that I should not be this out of breath heading into the gym. I try to keep my expletives as quiet as possible as I fish my wallet from the very bottom of the school bag.

Finally I produce the entry card and stomp back to the changing rooms. Now I have ten minutes before spin class begins. This may seem like enough time but clearly you do not wear sports bras. I start by hopping around the gym with my toes lifted, to avoid the dreaded athlete’s foot, and to avoid dragging my pants on the ground while simultaneously pulling them on. Then, it is time for the bra. I like the kind that goes over your head… when they are on that is. I get it over my head and now handily absent shoulders but then I am stuck. To be fair, I have dumb arthritis elbows that don’t straighten, but still… So now it is balled up under my armpits and I am flinging my body around like I am trying to escape from a straight jacket. This is when I hear the outer door to the changing room open. I dive for cover into the shower stall, still balancing on my heels to keep my toes from touching the slimy floor. I keep flinging my body sideways, trying frantically to get the damn thing over my squished boobs. Then it occurs to me that, if I fell over in here and hit my head, it would appear to my rescuers that I had been strangled by my own bra. Determined not to be headline news “Woman strangled by sports bra” I wrestle with it determinedly until I finally triumph.

I am ten minutes late to class…