How Did I Get Here, And Where Is The Next Turn?

Greetings and salutations to all who deem this worthy of your time...

Brought up Aug 5, 2012

In the Middle of Changes, Some Things Stay the Same... Messed Up!

A few weeks ago, the boy started talking about joining a gym. This is nothing new. We have, as a family, joined a gym twice before. The first time, I went maybe 4 times; the second, I never set foot in the place. This time was very different.

My kids have watched my struggle with weight for years. This time, I guess they see I mean business. When the boy approached me in the past weeks, he was a bit timid about asking if I wanted to join with him on a family plan. Unusual for him, being timid. He has joined me once on my walk, and I guess he has decided I need a safer means of exercise. After all, I was bruised last week when the walleyed varmint, who has terrorized me for months, finally tried to bite me. I felt the teeth, but he didn't break the skin, just bruised my calf. There was also an incident involving some idiot roofers and what I took for insulting comments. (The Punk assures me that in malespeak, it was actually complimentery. I think he's cracked.)

So, we ponied up the cash, which is a monthly fee, no contract to sign, and joined. I plan to see if they have a FB page. The place is great. The past three mornings, my walk has been on a tread mill. I thought I would die, until this morning, when I finally found the perfect 'fit.'

The machine I used for the first few times is stuck on an incline, which I thought would make my calves rip apart or something. They are still so sore, they feel like the day after my first practice with the volleyball team in high school. The problem is, I was 17 then, and much more resiliant than now.

This morning, I was the only one in the place at 7 a m. I arranged the fans, grabbed a towel, put my phone, keys and MP3 into the cubbies on the same machine, cursing the thing as I stuffed in my ear thingies. After a few seconds, still cursing, I stopped. The machine next to the one I was on was the same make, but looked less inclined. I said "Screw it," and switched machines.

I will not say it is a glorious experience. The treadmill is not the same as walking at my own pace, but the second machine is now mine. I was huffing and puffing on the first at 2 miles an hour, but on the second, I had it up to 2.8, and for the last 2/10ths of my mile, 3 miles an hour. The minute it said I had walked 1 mile, I hit the stop button, but this time, instead of feeling like I would fall on my face, I had to smile.

The past 3 nights, I have returned to the gym, and walked a bit more. Last night, I walked 3/4 of a mile, and thought I was going to die before I got to my car. But, that was the first machine. Tonight, if someone is on the 2nd one, I may yank them off by the hair!! LOL!

The up side is that they have one of those scales like in the Dr.'s office. I asked the boy how accurate the thing is, and he said it might only be off a pound or two. Uhmmmm, I'll take it.

According to the gym's scale, I have lost 100 pounds...

The monster under the table at home has gone bezerk, anyway. This morning, the damned thing claimed I weighed 158... I haven't weighed that since high school... and wore a size 14. No way in hell that is right, unless suddenly the saggy, baggy mess has been stuffed with feathers. Maybe it needs new batteries... (And, no, Punk, it doesn't mean I start trying to quit smoking yet, though that was the plan at 100 lost. I NEED the evil piece of electrified glass at home to confirm it first...)

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