Back in September, I joined a gym. The location was perfect, the setting was lovely, and as I signed my life away, I thought, “Gonna suck if I lose my job and can’t work out here anymore.” Because I chose a gym that was across the street from my son’s daycare, and halfway between my house and office. Five weeks later?
I didn’t lose my job, but circumstances involving someone’s unwanted crotch and my backside caused me to rethink my career path, and that led to my return to an industry I truly enjoy. However, that meant I wouldn’t be working out at that gym any longer.
The nearest gym of my membership is 30 minutes from my house, densely populated, and kind of grimy looking. If I’m going to drive 30 minutes to do something I don’t want to do, then by gosh, it better be pretty to look at. (I can hear Ms. Monroe telling me not to waste an “at” at the end of a sentence. She said we had a finite number of “ats” and that if we used them up incorrectly, we wouldn’t have one when we needed one. Ms. Monroe was my 11th grade AP English teacher. That’s about all I remember from 11th grade English.)
Another big name chain gym is right across the street from my current office. There are three more within 15 minutes of my house. They appear to be clean and sparkly, and the one by my office is quite nice. I changed memberships today.
I kind of hate the gym, but I also hate how tight my shoulders are feeling and how lethargic I’ve been. I was feeling pretty super when I started working out last Fall, so I’m looking forward to getting back up on that horse of feeling healthy.
Thor’s Grents (that’s grandparents) are picking him up tomorrow night, and the Husband has a class tomorrow night. You know what I’m doing after work? I am going to go get on the treadmill. Feels so wrong to be giddy about that.
