So I've been working out. A lot. At least for me it's a lot. The only two days I haven't been there in the past seven days was Sunday (we went to the zoo and hiked around isntead) and Monday (when the gym was closed). I'm more than a little in love with my YMCA. It's the one place where I don't have to worry about phone calls or cats yowling or employees needing something sent somewhere. All I have to do is count reps and breathe and put one foot in front of another.
I get up at an ungodly hour now. A few minutes before five, and Kevin flicks the light on to get my ass out of bed. I stumble over to the pile of clothes - ratty gym shorts, a t-shirt from last year's 3-Day, sports bra and socks - and I somehow manage to get dressed before turning to make the bed (it makes it less inviting when it's made). A quick swing by the bathroom, an even quicker kiss for Kevin, and I'm out the door and into the dark of the predawn hours.
And yet as early as I get to the YMCA, there are always people there before me. It's 5:15, the employees are sitting at the from desk yawning and the place has only been open since 4:30, but there are already people doing laps in the pool and walking miles on the treadmills. But it's nowhere near full and I can flit from machine to machine without having to wait. It's awesome.
The best part? I get to do my treadmill and elliptical time while watching MTV, something I can't do at home. Thanks to that precious hour at the gym, I left this morning laughing at just how ridiculous Mariah Carey has become. Seriously, her latest video, "Shake It Off"? She looks like a shiny Monchichi. And all of her damn moves seem to be stolen from other singers who dance better than she does. It was hard not to laugh out loud as I watched that travesty this morning.
I think tomorrow I'll stick to the Cartoon Network. But for now, it's after 9. I need to go to bed if I want to get up in time for my gym communion tomorrow.
I get up at an ungodly hour now. A few minutes before five, and Kevin flicks the light on to get my ass out of bed. I stumble over to the pile of clothes - ratty gym shorts, a t-shirt from last year's 3-Day, sports bra and socks - and I somehow manage to get dressed before turning to make the bed (it makes it less inviting when it's made). A quick swing by the bathroom, an even quicker kiss for Kevin, and I'm out the door and into the dark of the predawn hours.
And yet as early as I get to the YMCA, there are always people there before me. It's 5:15, the employees are sitting at the from desk yawning and the place has only been open since 4:30, but there are already people doing laps in the pool and walking miles on the treadmills. But it's nowhere near full and I can flit from machine to machine without having to wait. It's awesome.
The best part? I get to do my treadmill and elliptical time while watching MTV, something I can't do at home. Thanks to that precious hour at the gym, I left this morning laughing at just how ridiculous Mariah Carey has become. Seriously, her latest video, "Shake It Off"? She looks like a shiny Monchichi. And all of her damn moves seem to be stolen from other singers who dance better than she does. It was hard not to laugh out loud as I watched that travesty this morning.
I think tomorrow I'll stick to the Cartoon Network. But for now, it's after 9. I need to go to bed if I want to get up in time for my gym communion tomorrow.
1 Comments:
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