So according to a pretty routine Wednesday morning, I went to the gym right after my pumpkin pie and coffee had digested. Started out with a couple pretty speedy miles on the stair master, then moved onto lower body free weights because I tend to shirk on those after a run. Did half an hours worth of weights and core, then hopped on the treadmill. I was contentedly lost in my own little world of Taio Cruz, upcoming marathons, fitting into skinny jeans and still being able to outrun Cooper when he comes back from boot camp. Then someone touched my elbow.
Let me just add a little side note here about touching a runner when they are contentedly basking in the world of endorphins and well earned body odor: you just don't do it. Especially if said runner is on a treadmill, and ESPECIALLY if you are not completely prepared to catch them as they go airborne. Yes, this is experience talking; thankfully not experience from today.
Anyways, I turn around, about to give someone a death glare and a sweaty smack, this little old lady is looking up at me; another similar creature is standing behind her.
"Excuse me miss, would you like to join our spinning class? We need one more person or the trainer can't do it." Seriously? I had visions of me saying no, and a week later the EMT's putting this lady into ambulance for a heart attack or something that might have been prevented if that class had happened. Besides, how hard could it be?
I think my mistake was in assuming that I was going to something similar to an aerobic knitting class. Wrong. An hour later I had been introduced to a few muscles I didn't know I had (probably the ones your only use when you're giving birth or something), and I couldn't hold my arms up long enough even to fix my ponytail.
I hope that I'm still going to the gym when I'm 100. Now for a post-workout Metamucil shake. Just kidding.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment