I made it in the door this time. Good job, self. I came so close to staying home to watch The Bachelorette instead, but I didn’t. I think that’s what they call perseverance.
How am I already out of breath? Whose idea was it to build a gym on the second floor of a building anyway? Though I guess that is sort of genius. If I do nothing else today, at least I know I burned a couple calories climbing those stairs. Lethargic stair climbing counts as cardio, right?
Ok, 30 minutes on the arc trainer starting now. I’ll even turn the resistance level up because I totally got this and I need that beach bod, stat. Just call me Sporty Spice. “I be up in the gym just workin’ on my fitness.” I wonder what Fergie has been up to these days—probably sitting around being attractive and physically fit with Josh Duhamel. They have a baby together, I think. Baby Duhamel was most likely born stronger than I am right now. “And I’m going to miss you like a child misses their blanket.” Man, even Fergie songs that I can’t stand manage to get stuck in my head. I’d like to be under a blanket on my couch right about now. “But I’ve got to get a move on with my life. It’s time to be a big girl right now, and big girls don’t cry”—except for me because this is actually burning. Turning up the resistance was a rookie mistake I won’t make again.
Why is the Food Network on at the gym? I wonder how much cardio I’d need to do to burn off that chocolate cupcake they’re making right now. Probably an extra hour, at least. Well now I’m hungry. This channel really needs to be banned because this is torture.
I must be almost done with the arc trainer by now. It feels like I’ve been on here for an hour. 9 minutes and 37 seconds?! That can’t be right. There is definitely something wrong with the clock on this machine. Ok, just suck it up; you can do this. Find a good song and just get lost in the music. Stay by Rihanna, skip. Teardrops on My Guitar by TSwift, skip. Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran, skip. Where are all the fast songs? Shuffle is once again letting me down. My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. Actually, this weirdly works for me. “I’m king of the world!”
Ok, how is that girl on the treadmill wearing lipstick, bronzer and false eyelashes? Did she prepare her face specifically for this work out, or did she just come from work? Though do people really wear that much makeup to work? I consider it a win if I put foundation and eye liner on in the same morning. Really though, the even better question is how is her makeup not dripping down her face? She is sprinting and not a drop of sweat. I need to know her secret. If that were me, not only would I be sweating profusely, I’d definitely trip. My shoelace would get caught and I’d go tumbling down after it. I wonder how many times that’s happened. Need to Google shoelace-related treadmill accidents later.
My legs still feel like they’re burning. This can’t be normal. I hate cardio. I hate cardio. I hate cardio.
“Yo, yo his palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.” Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost just started rapping Eminem out loud. Get it together! That was a close one, could have really embarrassed myself there. Repeat after me: you are in public, not in your car. You are in public, not in your car.
No, no, no—sweaty bro wearing the tight, neon tank top; do not go on the machine next to me. I’m silently willing you to go away, why isn’t it working? Please go lift weights and stare at your biceps in the mirror like a normal bro. Ugh, there were so many other open arc trainers you could have chosen. I do not want to listen to the music that’s blasting through your giant Beats by Dre headphones, nor do I want to breathe in the smell of your gym stench. Oh, now you’re grunting too. Great. Really awakening my senses right now. Thanks buddy.
Phew—done with the arc trainer! That wasn’t even bad. I am amazing. My physical endurance is god-like. I think I should try out for the Olympics.
Ugh, why is there always someone on the only machines I know how to use? Wow, wait, this woman has a fanny pack with her. Are those back in style? I hope not. Fanny packs are so awkward—they’re like your own personal kangaroo pouch. Though, really, I guess they are pretty convenient. Just snap it around your waist and you’re good to go. Oh and now she’s texting. Just sitting and texting. Just sitting, texting and not using the machine. Come on lady, put that phone in that fanny pack and hurry along. Maybe if I breathe heavily and hover around her, she’ll get uncomfortable and leave.
Wait, the row machine is free. Perfect. “Row, row, row your boat.” Whoa, who had the weight at 130 pounds? Let’s calm down, 50 is more like it.
Oh god, I just walked into a stationary bike. A stationary bike! I am so clumsy. I hope no one saw that. Olympic athletes are supposed to be graceful. I might have to kiss that dream goodbye.
Alright, just get through some ab and leg exercises and you’re done for today. Looking a little crowded over here, but maybe I can squeeze in next to that old man in the corner. Wait a second, is he asleep? I think that guy is taking a nap. I’m jealous; I’d love to be napping right now. It’s for reasons like this that people say you should respect your elders—older and clearly wiser. Although he hasn’t moved since I came over here. Oh god, what if he’s dead? Oh my god, what is wrong with me? That’s ridiculous. He does look really old though. Should I try to wake him up? Should I go get someone to help? Oh no, what do I do?! Ok, ok I can see him breathing; we’re good.
Time for squats. God I hate squats. I find it unfair that the exercises that work the best are the ones that bring you the most pain. Oh, Stefanie just texted me: do you want to meet for margaritas? Sorry Stef! Training for the Olympics. I need to stay here and finish my work out. H2O only for this girl! Wait, who am I kidding? Rome wasn’t built in a day. Plus the gym will still be here tomorrow.
Margaritas sound like a great idea!