I just realized that I've skipped blogging for the entire month of March. Why? Because March was HORRIBLE! Cold, windy, grey and basically an extension of winter 2013, which is unfair to say the least. I'm going to stop my whining right here. March is over and done and despite the fact that April hasn't started out much better, the upcoming forecasted temperatures look acceptable for this time of year. I can live with any day over 50 degrees. My expectations have been lowered and a sunny day, with no wind, over 50 will do just fine. Okay, weather bitching is now officially done.
Now onto the meat of this blog, which is that I've started going to a gym to workout. It's the first time in my life that I've been compelled to exercise beyond my daily mucking stalls, throwing hay bales, lifting grain bags, wrangling horses and riding. That might sound like a fair amount of physical daily exercise to most folks, but considering I've done this job for the last 20+ years my body is a virtual robot and I can do these chores with one arm tied behind my back, albeit my very sore, aching, seized up back. I realized around mid-February that I was getting up out of a chair bent over like a 80 year old grandma, and my middle resembled the Pillsbury Dough Boy. I have thin legs, so during the winter of wearing ten layers, no one ever thinks I look pudgy, but the mirror doesn't lie and my stomach was in sad shape. We're going to a wedding in the Dominican Republic in the beginning of May, and I was starting to panic at the thought of exposing my lilly white, whale belly in a bikini. It became time to DO something about my decrepit, chubby state. So, off to the gym I skipped, or rather limped like quasi-modo. The gym I chose is a tad run down, but it has all the requisite machines and weight equipment. And it was cheap as hell to join. Perfect. The manager is kind of creepy, but I don't care. He spends most of his time on his cell phone, sitting around in a tacky, leather Yankees jacket, with a "lid" on his head and reeks of cigarettes. I always give him a cheerful "Good Morning" as I scan my card and leave it at that. I decided early on that I was going to abandon my gregarious nature when I was doing my workouts. No eye contact, no smiles, I would be The Terminator in the gym, a workout zombie. I'm sticking to it. I'm a workout beyotch. Every day I put in my earbuds attached to the iPod, set it on some groovy tunes and set forth to work up a sweat by torturing myself on the elliptical machine, treadmill, weights, etc. I mix it up and I'm learning as I go what works best for my body and how far I need to push myself without making myself horribly crippled. The scary thing is that I really f'ing like it!! My back has never felt better, no joke. For the first time in years I don't feel like the Tin Man in need of a good dose of oil. This was a welcome side effect that I wasn't anticipating. My core has a ways to go, but already after one month, my stomach muscles are visibly tighter and I'm getting in shape. I have a waist! And the muffin top is smaller! Hallelujah!! I just may be able to brave the beach in the D.R. without sucking it in so hard that I pass out taking my first sip of a rum punch.
I go to the gym around 8-9 a.m. and though I don't engage in conversation with the other patrons, don't kid yourself, I watch EVERYTHING. It's all done on the sly, because staring at the gym is a total no-no. One of the rooms has a solid wall of mirrors and it's tempting to get stuck looking at other people (especially for a serial voyeur, like myself). Getting busted staring is the kiss of death. I learned the hard way and now I've devised some quick glances that go unnoticed, just fast peeks then back to making it look like I'm training for a marathon, like a serious athlete (ha ha ha ha ha!). I'll never run a marathon, in fact if I run for 15 minutes on the treadmill, I look like a bleary eyed co-ed who just woke up from a two day bender. It helps that most of the other gym folks that I see are in the 60+ age group. I give these guys and gals a lot of credit. A few of them could potentially kick my ass. One guy does weights like no one I've ever seen. He's a total freak. Covered in sweat, he goes from machine to machine, huffing and puffing, lifting and groaning. He's an animal! Another older dude gets on the elliptical machine and pumps so hard that I fear the thing will take flight. I swear this gym must have 911 on speed dial, but these folks are there almost every day and I haven't seen an ambulance, yet. I take a day off every fifth day, since I do have a business to run and I have to attend to certain duties beyond my own vanity. I know, boring, but it's true. So that's what I've been up to for the last month. Getting older doesn't have to suck, or mean that we have to surrender to letting ourselves go. Vain jackasses, like me, can pay to punish themselves on a daily basis. Whoo hoo! Off to mix myself a martini now...I don't want you to think I've TOTALLY lost my mind, or that this blog has been hijacked by some kind of health nut. No, it's still me, the martini floozy, just in a bit better shape, getting down with her bad self, while she secretly watches old folks swing their flab. Hey, don't judge, I could be spending the hour I work out stalking people on FB while eating pancakes!