As you may have noticed by my lack of posts in the "Work It Out" (shout out to anyone who got that Beyonce reference from the Austin Powers 3 soundtrack- represent) section of this blog, I have sort of fallen off the workout wagon. I'm about as far away from the wagon as you can get. In fact, I am probably under the wagon, getting run over by it as we speak.
I worked hard for a whole two weeks leading up to my friend Amy's wedding. And by worked hard, I mean I went to the gym maybe 3 times a week for 14 days straight. It was a matter of life and death. Well, life and death a $200 bridesmaid dress that didn't exactly fit. But I'm happy to say, after putting in the least amount of effort possible, I successfully was able to breathe in my dress and kept my husband from having a panic attack over the cost of alterations.
so honored to be a bridesmaid. & pretty excited about the whole breathing thing
I determined using a highly inaccurate $15 plastic scale from Wal-Mart that I lost 3 pounds. Ironically, I think that is also the same amount of wine I consumed that weekend (before you judge, it was at a winery) and needless to say, I haven't been back to the gym since.
And then this happened:
which one of these is not like the other?
My (little) sister was in a pageant this weekend (2nd runner up, what what) and her body looked more amazing then I have ever seen her look before. So did the majority of the 37 other girls, who I had to watch strut in bathing suits and skintight evening gowns for 2 days straight. After being forced to sit there and stare at people in bikinis for that amount of time, you can't help but want to crawl into a hole and die. Especially when some of them look like this:
yes, there were props.
Okay so it wasn't exactly like that, but the girls were all accessorized in their bathing suits, and most of them were wearing body jewelry and feather wings. It was awesome and ridiculous at the same time.
To be fair, my sister had been working her ass off preparing this and doing a million things I would never want to do in a million years, like hot yoga and eating brown rice. I was also wearing a bulky sweater, cuffed boyfriend jeans, and flats. I couldn't have looked more like a dowdy sister. Except I could, because I also didn't wash my hair. So I had pretty much set myself up for failure.
The next morning, for some strange reason I had the urge to go to the gym. Weird. I asked my trainer/roommate/personal chef if he wanted to accompany me, to which he looked at my quizzically.
Steve: Did you only ask me to go to the gym because you saw all those girls in the pageant in their bathing suits?
Me: Uh, no. *insulted* Why do I need a reason? You're always telling me I should go.
Steve: Okay, well you've never asked me before.
Me: *pause* I just... really want to go. I have an urge to exercise.
Steve: Yeah, okay.
So we get up bright and early before I have to work that day and go to the gym together. Isn't that adorable?
BUT WAIT.
What could ruin this otherwise successful couple workout session?
That's right. WEIGHT LIFTING MAN!
I had sent Steve to the office to commandeer the Christmas cards that the apartment people had been hiding from us for over a week. I was in there for all of 2 seconds by myself when he saunters in and starts furiously wiping the machine down...RIGHT.NEXT.T0.ME. He really gets into it, too. I can never get over how much time he spends sanitizing the four different machines he insists on using, when in my mind I'm convinced that he has never washed his workout jeans or his little hat.
I quickly texted Steve.
omg he's here
and he's going to use the machine right next to me
and he's EXTRA loud today
It was nothing new, just the usual grunting, heavy breathing and flexing in front of the mirror. But it's totally magnified when it's like, on top of you and you're trying to mind your own business and you're worried about tiny beads of sweat jumping out of his fleece jacket and onto your Glamour "Women of the Year" issue that you look forward to all year long for inspiration to become a better person. The only difference that day was that Clingy Girlfriend was not in attendance. Maybe they're working on their trust issues that I have concocted in an effort to explain their very unusual relationship. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, see link above.
Side note: I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO TELL YOU THIS! Steve came running into the apartment one day after working out all excited. I thought he saw a puppy or something, but it was better: he walked into the gym, and standing in front of him was... wait for it...
Weight Lifting Man flexing while Clingy Girlfriend took pictures of him ON HER CAMERA PHONE! Steve walked right into their photo shoot without even realizing it.
Couldn't you just die? I was so bitter- I mean, the one millionth time I don't go to the gym, and this shows up?! My favorite part is that Steve is so into spotting WL Man now as well and he knows that it makes good blog fodder. He actually told me he almost texted me to put on my workout clothes and get down there ASAP so that I could see if for myself.
Okay, back to current WL Man sighting. The more time I spend with him, the more I am confused by his workout regimen. Clearly you know about his ensemble per previous entries. More recently I noticed that he never drinks water at all when he is exercising. Isn't that bizarre?! I drink a full glass of ice water once I get up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I suck down bottles in the gym because I have a fear of perspiration. I mean, regardless of how you feel, that's super unhealthy, right?! As a devoted viewer of The Biggest Loser for the past 17 seasons or however the hell long that show has been on, I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to observing a person's exercise routine. And all I can say is, Bob Harper would most certainly not approve, and neither would Brita, who insists on reminding us 23 times an episode to buy their filters.
I now have a new personal gym goal. I am determined to get a picture of WL Man, because I don't feel like my descriptions are even doing him justice. (You didn't think I mean like, a fitness goal, did you?) I'm slightly scared though, because I'm not very stealth and what if he caught me and in a roid-induced rage he snapped me like a twig and I was never heard from again? I have to figure something out, because it's something you just have to see.
Back to me. I did my usual 30 minutes on the elliptical at level 3. And no, I haven't started thinking about maybe going up to level 4 yet. Don't ask.
On the plus side, my half an hour flew by because I spent so much of the time making notes about WL Man on my iPhone.
I spared you a picture of my workout outfit, mainly because I was wearing unintentionally high waisted black stretchy pants and my XL Pinkerton Class of 2003 shirt, and it was not cute.
Also, this exercise experience happened on Monday. It's Wednesday and I have not returned. And I've had 3 meals in the past 2 days that largely were comprised of cheese. I'm sure that will all change, because I am a visual person and am largely motivated by things I see rather than how I feel, and I've been saving the Victoria's Secret holiday fashion show on DVR for such moments of weakness.
World Peace!
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