I’m so sore from the weekend I can barely walk.
Sitting is an adventure in shifting and my left hip a reminder I should stretch more before.
I just joined a new gym.
Never a "jock", for most of my young adult life my idea of cardio was shooting pool, hydration coming in the form of tequila shots and a side salad (lime and salt – Lick it – Slam it – Suck it). It wasn’t until five years ago or so that I got in to daily exercise. Working at home helps; I don't merely glow in the gym, I sweat, my hair soaked, the skin on my cheeks, arms and chest a lovely flush of pink. Après requires getting back up on the rack to shower, lotion, flat iron. At home, I can easily sit in my stink. Once I started dance aerobics, I felt better, slept better. Strength training provided a more graceful yet stately stance and walk. Shoulder back, chest up and out. Core strength is sexy. Being limber and bendy even more so.
However the vibe at the fitness center changed, my favorite instructor left and I longed to sweat with more men. Classes there, especially mornings during the week, are made up of 99.9% women. That and I felt I’d got stagnant. Wasn’t pushing myself enough.
I found what I wanted right down the road. A beautiful new gym with steam room and sauna, smoothie/coffee bar and free WiFi, darkened spinning room where an IMAX movie of the Irish countryside is shown while U2 music blares, a brigade of equipment, mirrors and mind and body and group fitness classes. And amazing personal trainers, both men and women. Can’t wait to be stretched out.
Another plus, an indoor basketball court in full view of the cardio stations. I love watching men play a casual or pick up game of basketball. The games are usually shirts-skins, there’s body contact in the bumping of shoulders and guarding with chests and the squeak of shoes on the super-shiny-butterscotch-colored floor. Hockey is another one; the players tend to be a bit rough around the edges and display somewhat controlled, still aggressive behavior. Body checks. Getting slammed. And they carry big sticks.
My favorite activity, group cardio. Not your Mama’s Jazzercise, but funk and hip-hop and Zumba (Latin movement) and kick boxing, all laid out like a dance routine. Learn the combination, adding on. It’s fast. It really hurts the day after.
Ya got big dreams. You want fitness? Well fitness costs and right here's where you start paying... in sweat!!!
The instructor is a true blue dancer from a city sports team. You know, the girls who grind at games wearing shiny shorts that fit like Vicky Secret panties and belly baring tops tied in a “western” knot - tiny vest optional. She's a petite, almost boyish girl (I tower five or six inches over her) with a booming voice. A little piece of me wants to be her. I try hard so she thinks I’m good. To impress her. A bit of a girl crush.
I want this new gym to push me. When I’m there I want to be better, be more. Healthy, of course, but also bold and hip and desirable and in the moment and available and friendly and beautiful.
When drenched in sweat.