Restoring dignity at the gym, part 2.

You know how I like to pretend that I’ve got pride and dignity at the gym?  Yeah.  I am my own worst enemy and presently my biggest adversary to this mission.

Earlier this morning I darn near didn’t make it to Body Flow class.  We have a band coming to stay with us tomorrow night and the house (in my humble opinion) is in shambles.  It’s not the usual mess.  It’s the we-had-windows-put-in-and-now-Brian-has-to-repair-drywall-and-paint-walls-in-his-spare-time kinda mess.  There are plastic drop cloths, paint cans and sanding doohickies taking up the house and all my kitchen counter space.  In addition to cleaning this mess, I had a bug up my butt to take ALL the refrigerator shelves out and scrub them down while bags of groceries were patiently waiting to be put away.

But today is Monday.  It’s my day off.  And this Body Flow class has been really good for getting me to strengthen my weak core.  Having a strong core will support my lower back (which usually gets the brunt of all my exercise, weight, movement and straining).  With all that needed to be done to get our house in order, I almost decided to skip Body Flow.  Brian nudged me a little to skip it, too.  Well, if there’s one thing that’ll get me to act, it’s somebody telling me not to act.  (My rebellious nature, I suppose.)

I’m glad I went to class.  When it was over, the teacher’s pet in me couldn’t wait to tell the instructor that I’ve been blowing my hair dry while standing on one leg.  Multi-tasking at its best!

Then later today I had an appointment with Marcus, my trainer.  Before I ran out the door, first I had to finish my crazed, clean-all-the-bedding routine.  And if there’s one thing over which I’m developing an unhealthy obsession, it’s ironing out the wrinkles in freshly washed sheets.  I am a grandma trapped in a 28 year old’s body, okay?

Well, just as I was shaking out the sheet to fold it, my arm touched back on the hot iron and I got burned Real. Nice.  You could actually see the outline of the steam holes in the shape of the burn.

Me, “I think I’m going to have to call Marcus.”  Our appointment was in 13 minutes.

Brian, “Eh.  You can still work out your legs, can’t you?”

(Oh, yes he did.)

Ok.  Clearly a greater display of sympathy was in order here.  But I was blinded by both my indignation and my pesky need to not go back on my committed word.  So off I trudged to the gym, icing my arm in the car.  Brilliant, right?

Marcus raised his eyebrows at me while I informed him that, indeed, we’d have to work on my legs today.  I situated myself on one of those leg press machines (the kind that I whined about in Restoring Dignity at the Gym).  Suffice it to say that the only way for me to precisely place the ice on the burned portion of my arm was to look like a contorted, handicapped goose.

And if that wasn’t bad enough. I was a smelly goose.  It occurred to me that I hadn’t deodorized since the Body Flow class.  I could actually smell myself.

Can I just say that I’m so glad that I’m married and don’t have to worry about seeming irresistible?  ‘Cause I had ‘resistible’ written all over me at the gym today.