Stories from the gym

So yesterday at the gym, Ashley was having a slight wardrobe malfunction. You know, that kind when the back seam of your pants sinks deeper and deeper into crevices where pants don't actually belong? Right.

Ashley's way cooler than I am in those moments. Instead of doing the "Oh my God, can anyone else tell I have a wedgie from hell?" or "Can I hide against the wall long enough to rescue my pants from my butt crack?" and stressing out and being embarrassed, she faces it head on.

We were walking side by side and instead of trying to hide it, she says out loud to me (in a show of supreme femininity), "Oh my Gawd, my asshole is eating my pants. Rahhhhr!"

And then we realized there were two men walking behind us that were definitely close enough to have heard her lament.

It was splendid. For me, anyway. :o)

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I've decided to start tanning. (Ashley is, after all, the Enabler of All Things Girly, and we've been spending a lot of time together while our husbands are out of town.)

I have tanned before, but it's been years, and I forgot what it was like. I never did it religiously like some girls, and 6 minutes in that bed was enough to remind me of why.

I'll start off with Jared. Jared is the trainer at the gym, and I'm pretty sure he's a fourteen year old boy that has been trapped inside the body of an over-compensating body builder. He's decided to befriend Ash and I. And by befriend I mean "attempt to flirt whenever possible." Which is exactly the last thing on the To-Do list of two married mothers of small children that are at a gym in the morning with no make-up, teeth un-brushed, and perhaps a bit of chewed up and spit out cereal caked onto our sports bras for good measure. Right.

So Jared shows me into the "tanning booth", a room behind the office with a door that locks. Of course, what good is the door that locks when the entire top fourth of the wall is missing? Awesome. So we're sitting in there, he's stalling pitifully, trying to discuss with me the merits of pubic hair. (No, I'm not kidding. It was the strangest thing...) Finally, he leaves me to undress, warning me that I have only three minutes to get nekkid before the bed turns on.

So as soon as he's out the door, I strip down to nothin' (Ashley assures me that everyone tans naked. Everyone must be more comfortable in their own skin than I am.) And then I sat there perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for the rest of the two minutes and fifty seconds to go by. When was the last time you sat stark naked in a strange room surrounded by hundreds of ultraviolet lights? Well, lemme tell ya, three minutes can take a looooooong time to pass depending on one's situation.

I was just wondering if Jared was playing some kind of horrible prank on me, hoping to get a glimpse of my not-so-glamourous naked body, when Ta Da! The lights came on, and I lowered that lid down on me, briefly considered the possibility of being stuck inside forever, and then tried to relax for six minutes.

Everything went smoothly. I managed to extricate myself from the bed when it was over without injuring myself or any technology. My face is nicely tanned, and my stomach is a nice pink color that Chloe tells me is quite pretty.

Gosh, I can't wait to do it again.

===

I woke up this morning feeling a little bit dizzy, weak, and light headed. I really wasn't in the mood for the gym, but decided to suck it up. Afterall, I have four weeks left to look good in that Victoria's Secret swim suit. No slacking off is allowed. (For some reason, it really matters to me that it's Victoria's Secret. As if the brand name alone means I must try harder to look good in it. Or maybe it's because I've seen it on a model, and I've seen it on me, and the difference between the two is enough to make me cringe.)

I spent yesterday evening with the in-laws. Which of course required maybe something like half a bottle of wine to recouperate from. Which I'm certain is not the reason I felt dizzy and lightheaded and slightly nauseous, but I suppose it's a possibility.

So Jamye decides we should do the bike class - Race and Pace they call it. It wouldn't be so bad, I think, except that the Bike Nazi is ruler of the class, and she's a monster. I had no idea an exercise bike could hurt me like that. I hurt in places I didn't know I had.

As a result, I've spent the entire day sitting around, reading, drinking coffee, eating carbs, and trying to recover from my date with the Bike Nazi. I think this is the last time I'll be attending Race and Pace. I'll stick with pilates - you spend a lot of time lying down in that class.