Guys, Gals, Gyms and Radars
She was a cute little thing what with her short pants, tight top and her ponytail swishing enticingly as she sashayed into the gym. The guy was checking her out, up and down and if his X-ray vision had been working, he could have told you what she had eaten for breakfast. She was most assuredly on his radar.
Me? I was actually thankful for her diversion of his attention because, at an age that starts with a 6, some hard earned gray hair and more extra pounds than a stuffed suitcase, I truly didn’t want to attract attention to myself. Especially at a gym. I did bow to convention and got a pair of shiny, tight fitting britches but as to the matching top? You’ve got to be kidding. The triple D size sisters needed more than a strip or so of cloth for some support. So I stayed with the ‘my cup runneth over’ size and covered up with a large, cotton shirt of my husband’s. I was not on anybody’s radar.
I started out on some sort of contraption that puts you into the same position you use for giving birth. The idea is to push the platform away from you. This was my warm up which the trainer said would let my muscles know that it was time to start working. So I sent the message and then moved on to the next machine.
One thing I learned very early on is that you need to start out with light weights on the machines. If you can’t control the return to the starting position, the metal weights clang together like cymbals. Red lights flash all over your position and everyone knows you messed up. At least, that’s the way it feels.
There was a small, cutie pie of a young lady working on the machine next to me as I was struggling to lift a log with the front of my legs. Took me right back to algebra class. When would I ever need to lift logs like that? The little cutie pie was trembling as she pushed her log backwards and upwards but I could see that she could have gone some higher if she had really tried, but I didn’t say anything. After she finished and left I went over to start my routine. Looking down to make sure that the weight was set to 40 pounds, my eyes almost popped when I saw that she had the pin set on 115 pounds. Smart alecky littly bragadocious snot.
I continued working my way down the instruments of torture until I saw that the next machine was already occupied by a very muscular dude. It was a good thing that he had lots of muscles as you will soon see. Instead of waiting for him to finish, I moved on to the machine beyond him. You are not supposed to cheat in a gym, but this machine was designed to help you do just that. The weights, this time, work for you instead of against you. It’s a chin-up machine and after climbing up 2 steps like on a step stool, you reach way high up and grab the bars. Then, when you step onto the bar, the theory is, that if you have put enough weight on the machine, it will help to boost you up in the air and you can feel good about doing chin ups. What could possibly go wrong with that?
I chose the maximum amount of weight, climbed up and grabbed the bars. Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the bar and had a sudden sinking feeling. I was stretched out as if on an invisible rack. Barely able to hang on to the bars, I was on tippy toe on the foot bar. And there I hung for at least 2 eternal seconds before mister muscle dude arrived to rescue me. Grabbing me around my waist, he helped me down and made sure I was OK before returning to his machine. Glad his ‘helping damsels in distress’ radar was working.
After finishing my workout, I was driving home and it occurred to me that I had actually done it! I had gone to the gym and survived. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this again and maybe, just maybe, I would one day walk a little taller, a little slimmer and a little more proudly.
Me? I was actually thankful for her diversion of his attention because, at an age that starts with a 6, some hard earned gray hair and more extra pounds than a stuffed suitcase, I truly didn’t want to attract attention to myself. Especially at a gym. I did bow to convention and got a pair of shiny, tight fitting britches but as to the matching top? You’ve got to be kidding. The triple D size sisters needed more than a strip or so of cloth for some support. So I stayed with the ‘my cup runneth over’ size and covered up with a large, cotton shirt of my husband’s. I was not on anybody’s radar.
I started out on some sort of contraption that puts you into the same position you use for giving birth. The idea is to push the platform away from you. This was my warm up which the trainer said would let my muscles know that it was time to start working. So I sent the message and then moved on to the next machine.
One thing I learned very early on is that you need to start out with light weights on the machines. If you can’t control the return to the starting position, the metal weights clang together like cymbals. Red lights flash all over your position and everyone knows you messed up. At least, that’s the way it feels.
There was a small, cutie pie of a young lady working on the machine next to me as I was struggling to lift a log with the front of my legs. Took me right back to algebra class. When would I ever need to lift logs like that? The little cutie pie was trembling as she pushed her log backwards and upwards but I could see that she could have gone some higher if she had really tried, but I didn’t say anything. After she finished and left I went over to start my routine. Looking down to make sure that the weight was set to 40 pounds, my eyes almost popped when I saw that she had the pin set on 115 pounds. Smart alecky littly bragadocious snot.
I continued working my way down the instruments of torture until I saw that the next machine was already occupied by a very muscular dude. It was a good thing that he had lots of muscles as you will soon see. Instead of waiting for him to finish, I moved on to the machine beyond him. You are not supposed to cheat in a gym, but this machine was designed to help you do just that. The weights, this time, work for you instead of against you. It’s a chin-up machine and after climbing up 2 steps like on a step stool, you reach way high up and grab the bars. Then, when you step onto the bar, the theory is, that if you have put enough weight on the machine, it will help to boost you up in the air and you can feel good about doing chin ups. What could possibly go wrong with that?
I chose the maximum amount of weight, climbed up and grabbed the bars. Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the bar and had a sudden sinking feeling. I was stretched out as if on an invisible rack. Barely able to hang on to the bars, I was on tippy toe on the foot bar. And there I hung for at least 2 eternal seconds before mister muscle dude arrived to rescue me. Grabbing me around my waist, he helped me down and made sure I was OK before returning to his machine. Glad his ‘helping damsels in distress’ radar was working.
After finishing my workout, I was driving home and it occurred to me that I had actually done it! I had gone to the gym and survived. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this again and maybe, just maybe, I would one day walk a little taller, a little slimmer and a little more proudly.