Back in the Saddle

You know it has been a long time since you've been a regular at the gym when they've thrown away your weights file.  (Our gym has sheets you fill out with all of the info and settings on the machine, you just pick them up, hand them to the attendant and they set all the weight machines for you and you can fly through the circuit.)  Sooooo....I had to start over.  Which was good anyhow as there was no way I could've lifted the weights that I used to.  In fact, I am taking today off from the gym (after going 4 days in a row) because I'm pretty certain that my right arm is injured rather than just sore.  And for my facebook friends that are looking for a post about my recent foray into Hip Hop classes, don't worry--there is a post in the works.  I just want to attend more than one class to see if Napolean Dynamite and B-boy for Jesus always show up.  (How'd ya like THAT teaser?!?)

But going back to the gym is almost more difficult than going to the gym in the first place.  First of all, we had to add Gracie to the membership.  And wouldn't you know that she flirted her way into being free and, oh yeah, they extended our membership 6 months for free.  (Yes. I'm concerned that she is already flirting her way to get free things from men.  So concerned that I don't have to renew my membership until November rather than June.) We did that in May so we could use the pool and get swim lessons, but it has taken awhile for me to get back into the habit of working out most days.

And the second reason it is difficult to go back to the gym is those looks from the trainers.  I hate the "Wow! It's been awhile" comments.  As I was  jogging  walking on the treadmill, my old trainer asked me where I'd been for so long and I actually told her I had a baby.  Which is not at all sort of true, right?  All that said, my favorite trainer is the only one who reacted to my return correctly saying, "Yeah! You're back.  It's awesome to see you."  And so I told her how we adopted Gracie and then Henry went through a not playing well with others phase that made dropping him off in childcare difficult, you know, your basic blame it on the kids excuse diatribe. (The honest truth is that I just got out of the habit after G came along and preferred sitting on the couch and eating Henry's potty reward M&Ms to working out.)  The lovely trainer cut me off saying, "Oh who cares why you weren't here.  What matters is that you're here now!  Let me know how I can help you get back into the swing of things, and please, bring a picture of those kids with you tomorrow."

I also cannot get over how one of my old work out buddies has become a tool and completely refuses to acknowledge my return.  I've taken to calling him Stay at Home Brad, because he is a stay at home dad, actually NOT named Brad, but since he's turned into a chooch, I feel totally cool with changing his name.  It is not like we were besties, but seriously, we have kids the same age, took spin classes together, often chatted while on the ellipticals at least 4 times a week for two years, and now he refuses to even acknowledge that I'm there.  Lest you think he just hasn't seen me, I have made certain that is not the case and have even spoken to him.   I think he may be too cool for me (which is actually an impossibility in case he doesn't know) because he has sort of accumulated an entourage.  Seriously, there were a flock of Mommies surrounding him and following him from machine to machine.  Add to this the fact that he was wearing those hip new running socks and has grown a beard and I kind of want to throw up a bit in my mouth.  Seriously--I'm all for getting new shoes and everything and I'm pretty sure that I've got close friends with those toe sock show thingys, but they look even stupider on men than Crocs.  I mean it is a pair of toe socks fashioned into Mary Janes.  Stay at home Brad, did you grow a beard just to convince yourself you are still a man? 

But we're back into the gym.  We're planning on being regulars.  Henry is addicted to Spider Mountain.  And I'm thinking that perhaps in a year or so I could soooooo get a pair of those running socks.  'Cause they wouldn't be douche-like AT ALL on me.  I could so rock those.