At Least They're Committed

I dragged my carcass into the conference room and Sharon asked how I was doing. “Great!” I said, grimacing.

“It looks like you hurt your back,” she replied.

I laughed. Nah, it was Day 1 of hitting the gym, and I rode the bus today which is also a bit of a walk. I only did 35 minutes on the treadmill, but I went faster than I had in a year and counting the hill and stairs and . . . well, it was an OK starter. Point is, I’m going to be hobbling around like this for weeks, maybe longer.

It’s about time. My gym membership kicked in the first of April and I was apprehensive on Friday simply walking in to get the lay of the land. It honestly took all the willpower I could muster. And today? I had all my gear, but more of the same. I held my head high and stuck to what I was comfortable with — the treadmill. I have vowed to check out the elliptical tomorrow. I’ll get where I need to be even if it hurts . . . and it will.

Eyes forward, look at no one, just work out. Rammstein, Bloodhound Gang, Enrique, Lady Gaga, Chili Peppers. Going to the gym is not a social function for me.

Sorry, Friday Dude: When I walked through the lobby toward the entrance to get my credentials, a man about my age was at the door about to walk out, he saw me and spun around. I pulled the door open and he’s talking loudly to the trainer.

“SO, YEAH, I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO IT. I WORK RIGHT HERE DOWN THE STREET AND I HAVE A SHOWER AT WORK. SO, YEAH, I HAVE THE OPTION OF SHOWERING EITHER HERE OR THERE.”

The trainer looked confused, like, “Why would you even feel the need to turn around tell me that?” Friday Dude evidently had thought that I’d simply walk past and go to the locker room, but I didn’t. After rambling a bit he realized I was waiting to speak with the trainer; he “uh’d” a couple times, puffed his chest out and said, “SEE YOU NEXT WEEK.” And departed.

Yup, yup, yup. Seriously, just there to work out.