Friday, May 4, 2012

A Vicious Cycle

So I had my yearly gyno check up this week.  I always approach this day with fear and a sense of dread as do most hypochondriacs.  As usual, I enter the waiting area and go right past the shining, youthful faces, bursting with child and the ridiculous notion that their future is bright,  and take my place along the wall with the other women over 50, clutching our purses and reading Fosomax brochures.

Thirty minutes later I leave with a prescription for an antifungal, (don't ask,) and some bad news.  I have gained four pounds since last year.  Not only that, the Dr. suggested in a kind but firm manner that I may want to start a new healthy lifestyle and take better care of myself.  Which I believe means put down the salt and vinegar chips and move your jiggly butt.  Fatty.

Really Doc?   Spanx are so much easier, and there is no sweating involved...once you get them on I mean.

Yet, after some serious deliberation, I decide now is the time.  I am going to start exercising regularly and I mean real exercise this time, not my usual kind,  which includes a can of Sprite and the Wii personal trainer game.  That afternoon, I  join the Y as it is close by and I hear they sometimes give out free granola bars on Fridays.  I head home with my new ID card and a schedule of classes.  I feel healthier already!

 Now, hold on, it looks like some of the classes take place outside.  Hellooooooo YMCA people, this is Florida.  We enjoy the outdoors from inside here, and let me make this perfectly clear- I HATE to sweat.  Not gonna happen.  If I exercise it is going to be in an air conditioned facility with Coke machines nearby.  Also, I wouldn't mind a few TV monitors and ipod hook ups. As I peruse the list I see one class that looks as though it could meet all the above criteria...Cycling.  And I am in luck!  The next class is tomorrow morning.  I spend the evening, carb loading in anticipation of the grueling 45 minutes that awaits me.

In the morning I am faced with a huge dilemna, what does one wear to cycling?  I decide right then and there that I am NOT going to turn my workouts into fashion shows.  I am a serious exerciser.   This is about my health (and my growing behind) and I am taking it seriously.  Plus, I don't know anyone who goes to the Y as most of my friends still have husbands and country club memberships.  I emerge from my closet in the perfect outfit, my "MRS. PITT" t shirt and black leggings from my Flashdance era, sans the pink leg warmers.  I think this says it all.

I arrive at the Y and head to the cycling room.  I open the door to my new healthy life style and am greeted by a very bossy woman with a clipboard,  who yells: "Hurry up!  Pick a bike!  The photographer wants to get started and we are already way behind!"  I notice it looks like Broadway opening night in here.  I rush over to a bike and hoist myself up.  "What is going on?" I ask the young girl next to me who is in bike shorts and a cute pink sports bra and obviously is nowhere as serious about her exercise as I am.
"The paper is doing a story on cycling classes!  It's going to be on the front page of the Style Section next Sunday."
OMG. NO.  See?  This is why I don't exercise.

Forty five minutes later I leave with a blinding headache from the hot camera lights and the pulsating music.  The instructor screaming "NOW PUSH IT!  PUSH IT!  LET'S TAKE THIS HILL!!!"  didn't really help either.  My leggings are soaked through with sweat and I imagine I may need a double order of anti fungal cream after this.  The only thing that can make this experience even better is seeing myself on the front page of the newspaper, wincing in pain from the bike seat that is buried somewhere in my netherlands.

Maybe cycling is not for me, if I plan to keep walking upright, but good news!  I found my Jane Fonda videos!  Now, if anyone knows where I can get my hands on a VCR....













2 comments:

  1. I agree! Much better to do these things in the comfort of our own home. Good luck!

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  2. I gave up the gym when college girls wore "GAP" on their asses and could barely fit the whole word on. My ass could hold "ABERCROMBIE & FITCH" and the front page of the New York Times.

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