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Thursday, September 17, 2009

Because my workout time has had to change due to the introduction of a large inconvenience called work, I see many different types of people at the health club:

The mother: There she was as I was walking into the locker room - her large hiney covered in granny panties bending over to clutch her well-worn fanny pack. She quickly pulled up her pants, slipped on her crocs, and left, collecting her 3 children as she left the health club.

The cutie: As I go up the stairs to get to my designated elliptical, I see her in her tight shorts which conveniently match her tennis shoes and multi-layered tank tops on the stairmaster. Her hair is perfectly curled in her pony tail, and her makeup is professionally done. Clearly, her goal is not to get a good workout, or burn off the cookies that she purchased during lunch (oh wait, that was me...). Her goal is to grab and hold the attention of the meat head in the free weight area. Once she holds him in a spell, he throws her head back, laughs, and jumps off the top step of the stair master with energy only a newborn foal should possess.

The nasty girl: As I push myself to my limits doing cardio, I see her travel from the bicycle that she has been on for at least half an hour to the drinking fountain steps away. Just like every other day, I see her bend over that fountain, put her hand in the water, and splash her face. She is washing her sweaty face in the same drinking fountain that I used to fill my water bottle with. I have half a mind to tell her to stop contaminating the water that we all drink with her gross sweat, but somehow, as much as I have rehearsed the words, they don't come out. Someday...

The workout girl: That's me. I don't fit into any of those categories, thankfully. I have more dignity than to carry my phone and wallet in a pouch clamped to my belly, and I am not looking to catch the attention of the men on the next machine, and surprisingly, I wait to de-sweat myself until I get home! I am actually there to workout, sweat, smell, and I don't care what anyone thinks. My face turns a nice shade of red, and my forehead has beads of sweat the minute I walk up the stairs to do cardio. People have tried to have conversations with me in the past, and I very politely gave them the impression that I don't want to talk to them. I am there to workout, so that I can get it done, go home to my family, and continue with the daily task of partnering with Drew to keep everyone alive.

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