I think I'm going to attempt to start a regular feature on this blog: odd things people are wearing at the gym. With the return of warm weather there's guaranteed to be some inappropriate swimsuit sightings at the very least. These are the perks of working out at a community center with a pool, and working out during the day when all the normal people my age are working.
Scene #1: Just Swimming...and Working Out...and Lounging
Golden High School must have been closed today, or else kids were skipping school en masse. My first swimsuit sighting of the year was a 15-year-old girl wearing a brown halter top bikini covered by a black tube top and a very small, very flouncy black skirt. While I don't think I will ever work out in a halter top or a tube top (much less both at once), what was really strange is that she was wearing brown fuzzy leather slippers without socks while riding the bike. My feet were sweating just looking at her.
Person #2: Scary Midriff Woman
Directly behind Slippered Swimsuit Girl was a 50+ woman working very hard on the elliptical machine. She was wearing the ubiquitous tight black exercise pants but she'd somehow managed to find the mom-jeans version because they went all the way up to her belly button. How do I know this? Because apparently she was working so hard she needed to let off some extra steam and decided the best way to do that was to twist the sides of her shirt and tuck them into her bra so that two inches of belly showed between the top of her pants and the bottom of her shirt. Let me tell you, something that would be a muffin top is not improved by extending the muffin cup to a higher point: the top just gets larger.
Person #3: The Larry King Look-Alike
This guy was leaving the gym area right as I walked in so I only got a fleeting glance, but he left a smile on my face for a good ten minutes afterward. He had to have been in his eighties, was skinny as a rail and had thick dark glasses. And of course, suspenders. But the best part was what went with the suspenders. Under his black suspenders he had a steel grey collared dress shirt buttoned to the top button and tucked into heather grey cotton sweatpants. The sweatpants weren't cuffed, though, and were at least two inches too short, leaving them to flap vigorously above his ankles when he walked, exposing a good expanse of white sock above his black dress shoes. And the best part of the whole outfit: black weightlifting gloves. Because clearly he was in for a serious workout. Or at least his pants and gloves were. The rest thought they were going to a business lunch.
I love my gym.
Showing posts with label working out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label working out. Show all posts
Monday, May 09, 2011
Saturday, May 07, 2011
The Run, 2011
I went for a run on Thursday. Yesterday I powered through sore muscles and hiked the mesa behind our house. Today I can't move. When I did I get this old?
For those of you who read "I went for a run" and started wondering who the heck is writing this, let me be clear: I went for a run/walk because it was beautiful outside and I didn't have time to make it to the gym. And to really prove that it's me, I'll tell you that it sucked.
The first 90 seconds of my run were glorious. Then my lungs hurt, followed quickly by a stitch in my side, rapidly compounded by aching knees. And this was all before I made it to the end of our block. As I contemplated taking a break to catch my breath I thought, "Good God, all I've done is run downhill!" From our house the only way to go is down, which means the only way home is up.
I switched to walking to keep my heart from exploding and when the stitch in my side had abated to a tolerable level I ran again--briefly. Then I switched to walking, thought about running, thought twice, and then walked the long uphill climb home. In all I probably ran a mile and walked another.
I have no clue how people can run for miles and miles. My walk was a brisk one, and between my music and the sunshine I was home before I knew it, but I was aware of every dragging second while I was running. I'm sure it gets better if you do it more often than once every six years, but I'm just not sure I'm that much of a glutton for punishment.
However, when I was about a block from home this little SAHM who's at least 10 years older than me jogged past me on the path, wearing a sassy little black and pink outfit that left no doubt about her fitness. Her ease of motion clearly indicated she runs often, and as we passed and smiled at each other (me with loathing in my heart for all her non-jiggly body parts) I noticed she didn't even have earphones. Happily running without any distraction? That's when you'll know my body has been taken over by aliens.
For those of you who read "I went for a run" and started wondering who the heck is writing this, let me be clear: I went for a run/walk because it was beautiful outside and I didn't have time to make it to the gym. And to really prove that it's me, I'll tell you that it sucked.
The first 90 seconds of my run were glorious. Then my lungs hurt, followed quickly by a stitch in my side, rapidly compounded by aching knees. And this was all before I made it to the end of our block. As I contemplated taking a break to catch my breath I thought, "Good God, all I've done is run downhill!" From our house the only way to go is down, which means the only way home is up.
I switched to walking to keep my heart from exploding and when the stitch in my side had abated to a tolerable level I ran again--briefly. Then I switched to walking, thought about running, thought twice, and then walked the long uphill climb home. In all I probably ran a mile and walked another.
I have no clue how people can run for miles and miles. My walk was a brisk one, and between my music and the sunshine I was home before I knew it, but I was aware of every dragging second while I was running. I'm sure it gets better if you do it more often than once every six years, but I'm just not sure I'm that much of a glutton for punishment.
However, when I was about a block from home this little SAHM who's at least 10 years older than me jogged past me on the path, wearing a sassy little black and pink outfit that left no doubt about her fitness. Her ease of motion clearly indicated she runs often, and as we passed and smiled at each other (me with loathing in my heart for all her non-jiggly body parts) I noticed she didn't even have earphones. Happily running without any distraction? That's when you'll know my body has been taken over by aliens.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Gumby Knees
Yesterday Harper work up early so I was able to make it to the gym at 8am for the first time in a long time. The 8am crowd is probably the youngest and most fit of the groups I've encountered so far at the local rec center, which meant that I was more conscious of my appearance than I am when it's just me and the 70+ crowd. Of course, by the time I'm already at the gym it's too late to do anything about my appearance, so all I can do is put in my earbuds and pretend I don't realize that I look like a dork.
See, I don't shower before going to the gym, and while you may ask, "Who does?!" apparently there is a contingent of women who either do shower or are blessed with hair that looks like they've showered even when they haven't. No one is going to look at me and make that mistake. My hair is really straight, so I don't have bed head in terms of strange tufts sticking out all over the place. What I do have, however, is really straight hair combined with grease, which gives me a slicked back look that after two days camping without a shower has prompted my husband to say, "I'm pretty sure it will bead water."
When I go to the gym, I attempt to get my hair into a ponytail even though it's too short. You'd think the grease would be a plus for this, like an adhesive to help it stay back on its own, but instead it makes it extra slippery, so it falls out of my ponytail in big stringy pieces. To solve this I use about 13 bobbypins, but I can never quite catch all of it, so pieces end up hanging down over my face, drooping over my ears, or lying limply on my neck.
So here I am at the gym, with a ponytail that's about an inch long in the back and falling down in strings all over my face in the front, wearing the workout clothes I bought right after Harper was born. I wrote about these in a previous post, but let me just remind you that they include large, drapey shorts like men's basketball shorts, and old lady tank tops with sleeves that gape under my armpits. I've lost a lot of my pregnancy weight since I bought these clothes, so the shorts are even larger and the gaping holes stick out even further. In short, I look anything but fit and attractive.
Yesterday I was stretching after using the elliptical machine, contemplating which weight machines to use, when I noticed a particularly fit lady with a lovely, fluffy ponytail wearing slim black pants and a hot pink fitted Nike shirt. She was cycling through her weight routine, stopping to use a decline bench with pads to hook her feet around to do sit-ups in between each set. For some reason I'd never noticed this decline bench before, and since I'm always looking for new ways to try to tone my jiggling belly, I thought, "That's exactly what I need!"
I watched her use it several times to make sure I knew how it worked (yes, it's just a stationary bench, but as you will see, even those can be tricky), and then I sauntered over to give it a try myself. With my ponytail, black shorts and pink tank top I was like a shorter, dopey version of the fit lady. I grabbed the handle and swung my legs up to the top, but then I couldn't figure out how to fit my legs and ankles around the pads. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get my knees under the first set of pads and my ankles on top of the second. "How the hell did that lady do this?" I mumbled. "You'd have to have Gumby knees to get them to bend that way."
And as I held my feet in the air, fumbling around for a lever or something to adjust the pads, one of the trainers that wanders around the rec center tapped me on the shoulder and said, "You put your knees OVER it and your feet UNDER these." It was so darn obvious I couldn't even say anything back, so I smiled, gave him a big thumbs up, and did what he said.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment--and then I attempted to do a sit-up. First of all, you shouldn't wear large shorts and gaping tank tops and then lie upside down. There's a reason people wear tight clothes when working out. Secondly, sit ups on a decline bench are really hard. I managed to do one with one hand holding my shorts and the other holding my shirt, and then I grabbed the handle to sit and catch my breath. And that's when I realized the trainer dude had never left. Maybe he was afraid to leave me alone based on my inability to figure out how the thing worked, but suddenly he was next to me, smiling and saying, "There you go!" I smiled and gave him the thumbs up again, and then tortured myself through nine more sit-ups so that I didn't look like a complete moron.
Today my abs ache, and I'm not going to the gym until this afternoon, after I've showered. It might be awhile before I go at 8am again. But I will use that bench again. I didn't go through that initiation for nothing.
See, I don't shower before going to the gym, and while you may ask, "Who does?!" apparently there is a contingent of women who either do shower or are blessed with hair that looks like they've showered even when they haven't. No one is going to look at me and make that mistake. My hair is really straight, so I don't have bed head in terms of strange tufts sticking out all over the place. What I do have, however, is really straight hair combined with grease, which gives me a slicked back look that after two days camping without a shower has prompted my husband to say, "I'm pretty sure it will bead water."
When I go to the gym, I attempt to get my hair into a ponytail even though it's too short. You'd think the grease would be a plus for this, like an adhesive to help it stay back on its own, but instead it makes it extra slippery, so it falls out of my ponytail in big stringy pieces. To solve this I use about 13 bobbypins, but I can never quite catch all of it, so pieces end up hanging down over my face, drooping over my ears, or lying limply on my neck.
So here I am at the gym, with a ponytail that's about an inch long in the back and falling down in strings all over my face in the front, wearing the workout clothes I bought right after Harper was born. I wrote about these in a previous post, but let me just remind you that they include large, drapey shorts like men's basketball shorts, and old lady tank tops with sleeves that gape under my armpits. I've lost a lot of my pregnancy weight since I bought these clothes, so the shorts are even larger and the gaping holes stick out even further. In short, I look anything but fit and attractive.
Yesterday I was stretching after using the elliptical machine, contemplating which weight machines to use, when I noticed a particularly fit lady with a lovely, fluffy ponytail wearing slim black pants and a hot pink fitted Nike shirt. She was cycling through her weight routine, stopping to use a decline bench with pads to hook her feet around to do sit-ups in between each set. For some reason I'd never noticed this decline bench before, and since I'm always looking for new ways to try to tone my jiggling belly, I thought, "That's exactly what I need!"
I watched her use it several times to make sure I knew how it worked (yes, it's just a stationary bench, but as you will see, even those can be tricky), and then I sauntered over to give it a try myself. With my ponytail, black shorts and pink tank top I was like a shorter, dopey version of the fit lady. I grabbed the handle and swung my legs up to the top, but then I couldn't figure out how to fit my legs and ankles around the pads. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get my knees under the first set of pads and my ankles on top of the second. "How the hell did that lady do this?" I mumbled. "You'd have to have Gumby knees to get them to bend that way."
And as I held my feet in the air, fumbling around for a lever or something to adjust the pads, one of the trainers that wanders around the rec center tapped me on the shoulder and said, "You put your knees OVER it and your feet UNDER these." It was so darn obvious I couldn't even say anything back, so I smiled, gave him a big thumbs up, and did what he said.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment--and then I attempted to do a sit-up. First of all, you shouldn't wear large shorts and gaping tank tops and then lie upside down. There's a reason people wear tight clothes when working out. Secondly, sit ups on a decline bench are really hard. I managed to do one with one hand holding my shorts and the other holding my shirt, and then I grabbed the handle to sit and catch my breath. And that's when I realized the trainer dude had never left. Maybe he was afraid to leave me alone based on my inability to figure out how the thing worked, but suddenly he was next to me, smiling and saying, "There you go!" I smiled and gave him the thumbs up again, and then tortured myself through nine more sit-ups so that I didn't look like a complete moron.
Today my abs ache, and I'm not going to the gym until this afternoon, after I've showered. It might be awhile before I go at 8am again. But I will use that bench again. I didn't go through that initiation for nothing.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Gym Scene
Sorry for the two-week hiatus. We were on vacation, and while I'll have pictures to post soon (ah, the old vacation-picture-posting promise), today's post is inspired by the fact that I had to wear a swimsuit on vacation.
I've been trying my best to make it to the gym at least three days a week. You wouldn't really know it by looking at me, because the butt ballast and SBUs I developed during pregnancy to prevent tipping have reduced only slightly to become my very own muffin top, serving no purpose whatsoever. That's right: my fat runneth over.
Perhaps more embarrassing than actually having a muffin top is the fact that I had to go out and by all new workout clothes in order to get rid of it. Showing a little bulge above your jeans is one thing: bulging out below and above tiny gym shorts is another, not to mention the various bulges in a too-tight tank top. No, my pre-pregnancy workout clothes were definitely unacceptable.
I had no idea how hard it is to find large workout clothes. Either everyone else who wears size L already bought out all the clothes at Target in the hopes of someday fitting into size M, or Target is discriminating against the folks that need workout clothes the most. I actually had to go to a specialty nursing bra store to get a sports bra in my size because Target didn't carry anything. I guess they figure if you've got jugs the size of mine, you're not doing much moving around.
I arrived at my new gym more than a little self-conscious of my new body and new duds, which included rather shapeless, drapey shorts and what I would have previously referred to as an old-lady tank top (large shapeless rectangle with cut-off sleeves that gap in the armpit hole around the boob instead of having sexy straps). At my old gym in the hip neighborhood I always felt a bit self-conscious because my clothes were from Target, even if they were size S with sexy straps. People there wore designer clothes made mostly with spandex, and shoes with toes so they could better "feel the chi" in their running or some such nonsense. And there was no making fun of these people, because toe-shoe nonsense or not, they were ripped enough that spandex looked good.
My new gym at the community rec center, however, is perfectly suited to my new lot in life. Instead of toe-shoes and spandex it's New Balance and oversized community event T-shirts. I even saw a pair of Reebok Pumps yesterday. And instead of fit 20-somethings sporting visible tattoos, this gym is full of 60-somethings sporting anything from cut-offs to bow-ties. (Yes, a bow-tie. An old man on the elliptical next to me the other day was wearing a button-down shirt tucked into polyester pants, complete with a bow-tie and Keds. I also saw a very large-chested woman wearing a green string bikini top under an old, white wife-beater. That is a story in itself, since I'm pretty sure she had been a man in another life, and the triangles of that bikini were very undersized for what they were supposed to be covering.)
I'm not saying that all the people in my new gym aren't fit. While on the treadmill I watched a bunch of ladies pushing 70 play a game of basketball that was definitely above my skill level. I know that's not saying much, since the last time I played basketball I dislocated a finger, but they were playing a full-court game at more than twice my age, and one lady even took two diggers in the 20 minutes I was watching. All I'm saying is that while there are a handful of people at the new gym that would look just fine in spandex and sexy straps--and I hope I'm one of them someday--it appears that my muffin top and old lady tank have found a good home.
I've been trying my best to make it to the gym at least three days a week. You wouldn't really know it by looking at me, because the butt ballast and SBUs I developed during pregnancy to prevent tipping have reduced only slightly to become my very own muffin top, serving no purpose whatsoever. That's right: my fat runneth over.
Perhaps more embarrassing than actually having a muffin top is the fact that I had to go out and by all new workout clothes in order to get rid of it. Showing a little bulge above your jeans is one thing: bulging out below and above tiny gym shorts is another, not to mention the various bulges in a too-tight tank top. No, my pre-pregnancy workout clothes were definitely unacceptable.
I had no idea how hard it is to find large workout clothes. Either everyone else who wears size L already bought out all the clothes at Target in the hopes of someday fitting into size M, or Target is discriminating against the folks that need workout clothes the most. I actually had to go to a specialty nursing bra store to get a sports bra in my size because Target didn't carry anything. I guess they figure if you've got jugs the size of mine, you're not doing much moving around.
I arrived at my new gym more than a little self-conscious of my new body and new duds, which included rather shapeless, drapey shorts and what I would have previously referred to as an old-lady tank top (large shapeless rectangle with cut-off sleeves that gap in the armpit hole around the boob instead of having sexy straps). At my old gym in the hip neighborhood I always felt a bit self-conscious because my clothes were from Target, even if they were size S with sexy straps. People there wore designer clothes made mostly with spandex, and shoes with toes so they could better "feel the chi" in their running or some such nonsense. And there was no making fun of these people, because toe-shoe nonsense or not, they were ripped enough that spandex looked good.
My new gym at the community rec center, however, is perfectly suited to my new lot in life. Instead of toe-shoes and spandex it's New Balance and oversized community event T-shirts. I even saw a pair of Reebok Pumps yesterday. And instead of fit 20-somethings sporting visible tattoos, this gym is full of 60-somethings sporting anything from cut-offs to bow-ties. (Yes, a bow-tie. An old man on the elliptical next to me the other day was wearing a button-down shirt tucked into polyester pants, complete with a bow-tie and Keds. I also saw a very large-chested woman wearing a green string bikini top under an old, white wife-beater. That is a story in itself, since I'm pretty sure she had been a man in another life, and the triangles of that bikini were very undersized for what they were supposed to be covering.)
I'm not saying that all the people in my new gym aren't fit. While on the treadmill I watched a bunch of ladies pushing 70 play a game of basketball that was definitely above my skill level. I know that's not saying much, since the last time I played basketball I dislocated a finger, but they were playing a full-court game at more than twice my age, and one lady even took two diggers in the 20 minutes I was watching. All I'm saying is that while there are a handful of people at the new gym that would look just fine in spandex and sexy straps--and I hope I'm one of them someday--it appears that my muffin top and old lady tank have found a good home.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
New Endeavors
This week marked the end of my maternity leave and the return to working reality. Harper started daycare, I went back to work, and I started going to the gym again for the first time since January.
As for leaving Harper at daycare, let me just say that if guilt could be turned into electricity, mine could power a small nation. It's overwhelmingly sad to leave her there each day, and to see how exhausted her first few days there have made her. I know that eventually she'll enjoy it and that it will be good for her to be there, but right now it's pretty tough on both of us. We'll figure it out, though.
Returning to the gym has also been challenging. Between nursing and taking Harper for walks I've done pretty well losing my pregnancy pounds, but though the scale says I'm just five pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight, I'm not nearly the same shape--or in the same shape--as I was before getting pregnant. So I was excited to finally get back into the gym and make a dent in my new, squishy physique.
I had to join a new gym since we moved to Golden and my old gym is no longer convenient, and the first day it was like a brand new experience. I've realized that there is only so much room in a person's brain, and mine has reached its capacity: for every new bit of information I file away, some old bit has to go. Apparently all the new parenting info went where I used to store knowledge about working out, because I wandered around the gym looking at the vaguely familiar machines thinking, "Oh yeah, I think you sit here and put your legs through here and then pull down on this lifter thingy..." Thank goodness all the machines have little pictures of how to safely use them because several times after squinting at these pictures I realized that my vague memory was totally incorrect.
My attempt to use my abs was the most telling about the changes in my new squishy body. I went to the little stand that you can use to hold yourself up by your arms and contort your body in various ways in order to work your abs (hold your legs straight or bend at the knees, lift them out in front of you or turn to the side, etc.). I used to do 25 of these at time. On Sunday I attempted to do one, and only accomplished a half of one by grunting loudly and kind of swinging my legs toward my chest. I realized I was way out of my league and went to do some sit-ups on the floor instead. Yesterday I was back at the gym and was way to sore to even do those. Clearly the abs are going to take some time.
I'm not the only one in the family working out some new muscles this week. Harper has been getting pretty good at holding her head up, so this weekend we tried out the Bumbo seat. As you'll see in the series of pictures below, the effort caused her to puke a little, and by the end she was too tired to really maintain a sitting position, but she sure was cute.
As for leaving Harper at daycare, let me just say that if guilt could be turned into electricity, mine could power a small nation. It's overwhelmingly sad to leave her there each day, and to see how exhausted her first few days there have made her. I know that eventually she'll enjoy it and that it will be good for her to be there, but right now it's pretty tough on both of us. We'll figure it out, though.
I had to join a new gym since we moved to Golden and my old gym is no longer convenient, and the first day it was like a brand new experience. I've realized that there is only so much room in a person's brain, and mine has reached its capacity: for every new bit of information I file away, some old bit has to go. Apparently all the new parenting info went where I used to store knowledge about working out, because I wandered around the gym looking at the vaguely familiar machines thinking, "Oh yeah, I think you sit here and put your legs through here and then pull down on this lifter thingy..." Thank goodness all the machines have little pictures of how to safely use them because several times after squinting at these pictures I realized that my vague memory was totally incorrect.
My attempt to use my abs was the most telling about the changes in my new squishy body. I went to the little stand that you can use to hold yourself up by your arms and contort your body in various ways in order to work your abs (hold your legs straight or bend at the knees, lift them out in front of you or turn to the side, etc.). I used to do 25 of these at time. On Sunday I attempted to do one, and only accomplished a half of one by grunting loudly and kind of swinging my legs toward my chest. I realized I was way out of my league and went to do some sit-ups on the floor instead. Yesterday I was back at the gym and was way to sore to even do those. Clearly the abs are going to take some time.
I'm not the only one in the family working out some new muscles this week. Harper has been getting pretty good at holding her head up, so this weekend we tried out the Bumbo seat. As you'll see in the series of pictures below, the effort caused her to puke a little, and by the end she was too tired to really maintain a sitting position, but she sure was cute.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Guilty Yoga
There's no baby news to report. I had another doctor appointment yesterday and things are about the same as they were two weeks ago. If the journey of being born is like crossing a street, then Baby Beer took a look at the other side of the street, said, "Hey, what's over there," took one step off the sidewalk, said "Nope, too scary," and has spent the last few weeks with one foot in the street and one foot still rooted solidly on the sidewalk. The pre-labor contractions have also stopped for the most part, so she's doing her best to halt this early progress and hang out as long as possible.
My indecisive baby and I went to prenatal yoga again on Tuesday. Every time I go I swear it will be the last time, because yoga with a basketball-belly is just not that fun. However, about a month ago I made the idiotic move of purchasing a package of five classes, so after a few weeks of not attending I keep convincing myself to go again and use up the pre-paid classes.
The workout really wouldn't be that bad if it wasn't for all the darn forward folds. I've never been able to bend over and touch my toes, so these exercises were always going to be my nemesis. But these days I can hardly bend over to put socks on, much less bend over and "release my neck and shoulders like a rag doll, and walk my hands out on the floor in front of me like a V." It's more like "stand with your legs apart and slouch a little. Good, good." In addition to the poses being completely unachievable, they never fail to result in a swift kick in the ribs ("Hello, you're squishing me in here!") and heartburn. Who wouldn't question the decision to pay money for this?
The real kicker, though, is that I have no excuse for complaining. Why? Because every time I go to the class, there's someone there who is more pregnant than I am. At the class on Tuesday, there was a girl who was one day past her due date. 40+ weeks and still doing forward folds with a smile. Damn these women!
I've got one pre-paid class left. The guilt wasn't enough to convince me to go yesterday. There's another class tomorrow morning, but I highly doubt that will happen. Maybe Tuesday. Maybe.
My indecisive baby and I went to prenatal yoga again on Tuesday. Every time I go I swear it will be the last time, because yoga with a basketball-belly is just not that fun. However, about a month ago I made the idiotic move of purchasing a package of five classes, so after a few weeks of not attending I keep convincing myself to go again and use up the pre-paid classes.
The workout really wouldn't be that bad if it wasn't for all the darn forward folds. I've never been able to bend over and touch my toes, so these exercises were always going to be my nemesis. But these days I can hardly bend over to put socks on, much less bend over and "release my neck and shoulders like a rag doll, and walk my hands out on the floor in front of me like a V." It's more like "stand with your legs apart and slouch a little. Good, good." In addition to the poses being completely unachievable, they never fail to result in a swift kick in the ribs ("Hello, you're squishing me in here!") and heartburn. Who wouldn't question the decision to pay money for this?
The real kicker, though, is that I have no excuse for complaining. Why? Because every time I go to the class, there's someone there who is more pregnant than I am. At the class on Tuesday, there was a girl who was one day past her due date. 40+ weeks and still doing forward folds with a smile. Damn these women!
I've got one pre-paid class left. The guilt wasn't enough to convince me to go yesterday. There's another class tomorrow morning, but I highly doubt that will happen. Maybe Tuesday. Maybe.
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