We’re joining a gym

I’m writing this so that when you no longer hear from me, you’ll know it’s because I died on an elliptical machine in said gym.

A few weeks ago, when my husband mentioned joining a gym, I totally rejected that idea.  I didn’t want to have to leave the comfort of home to exercise.  I am self-conscious, so going to a gym in all my Fat American glory didn’t seem appealing, especially as everyone here seems pretty fit.  My idea was to buy an elliptical.  Simple enough.  But then Josh wanted to partake of the elliptical, did some research, picked out a better one which was on sale.  Okay, sale’s good.  Except when we went to buy it, we learned it was out of stock.  For at least two weeks.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t getting skinnier and my favorite pair of jeans finally wore out in places that made them unfit for public use.

So Sunday, I went up to the nearby Starbucks to do some writing, and thinking about how I need to get out of the house more to make writing my job …and as I walked from the parking garage and across the complex towards the Starbucks, I passed a gym. A gym announcing that it was only 200 euro a year to join!  And all classes were free!

And then I started thinking – a very dangerous thing.  Then I mentioned it to Josh – even more dangerous.

But it made complete sense.  We could join this gym, so conveniently located close to home and office for the same cost as one elliptical that quite frankly, we have no room for in our house.  I could take pilates or yoga or zumba to my heart’s content at no extra cost.  I could theoretically go to the gym with laptop in tow, work out, go to Starbucks, get a big cup of inexpensive and low in calories tea and write.

And then, I can fit into all the jeans I packed and moved with me that don’t fit because I ate my way through the stress of the move.  I even have my first goal set – to fit into a specific pair of jeans that alllllmost fit – and first reward for making that goal – a pair of red Converse sneakers.  Which will look cute with the jeans.

So that’s the new and improve game plan – make time to get myself in shape, and write, all in one pretty convenient package.

But if I suddenly stop posting here, imagine my slender form draped gracefully over an elliptical, fainted dead away.  That’ll be prettier than the actual picture, me, red-faced, gasping, in ill-fitting yoga pants, begging to be put out of my misery while cursing the gym, the equipment, myself, my husband, and the inventors of the sadistic gym equipment.

 

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