What words do you associate with the word gym? I immediately think of rock solid six-pack abs, chiseled calves, enough sweat to fill a grain silo, and a mountain of Ibuprofen the size of Everest to relieve muscle pain. Don’t tell my husband, at least not the part about my having noticed all those carved bronze chests and well defined calves. Whenever he threatens to join a gym, I feign ignorance and say,”Jim? Jim who? And, you are joining him to go where?” Then I repeat all my reasons for not joining a gym. It’s too time consuming. It’s too expensive. It’s too far away. I’ll never have time to write. Besides, I walk my dogs twice a day for at least 45 minutes to an hour, each time. That should be all the exercise I need. Me? Join a gym?
I have my
prison bracelet Nike FuelBand to keep me in shape – well, maybe not in shape exactly. It’s more of a tool that keeps me aware of how sedentary active I am. It even rewards me with bright shiny words of encouragement when I’ve been a good girl…
Shouldn’t that be enough? It turns out, it isn’t. Walking the dogs does not do a thing for my muffin top, which needs more trimming than it did after the birth of our twins, or my upper arms, which have taken on the semblance of a speeding semi’s mud-flaps as it hammers down the 101.
But The Gym? Is that the only answer to trimming the
waist waste? Doesn’t tapping the keys on my laptop at a furious pace count as a cardio exercise? After all, a day of revisions has been known to increase my heart rate and make me sweat.
You’re not buying it, are you? Well, neither did my husband. A few weeks ago – it was midsummer – I promised to give joining a gym some serious thought. For eleven nights, I twisted and turned so much, you’d think my muscles would have tightened all on their own.
Then on the twelfth night, I had a rude awakening. Shakespeare and Hemingway stood before me – a true Midsummer Night’s Dream. Wagging their fingers, they shared their advice:
“Forget the nunnery,” William pronounced. “Get thee to a gym!”
“Indeed, my fair young lady,“ Hemingway boomed. “Do as you like it. However, joining a gym may very well have you bidding farewell to those arms!“
Three weeks and seven pounds later (my husband-6, me-1…UGH! Not fair!) after a strenuous workout, my husband duly noted our aprés gym whereabouts on Foursquare, a location-based social networking website for mobile devices. For being such a steadfast user, he was promptly awarded a free dessert:
It’s back to the gym, I guess.
How about you?