Driving

Lately I've been driving myself to run further, swim more often, go faster, work out longer, and lift a bit more weight. I should be thankful that the holidays made me put on the brakes and idle for a bit.

It is a good thing to take some down time and just relax, right? Stop steering, let the traffic jam lull me into that peaceful Christmas spirit? NOT. Hey, SUV man, you've had 51 weeks to shop and you STILL aren't done buying stuff??? Why are you tailgating me, I'm already driving 60 in a 45 zone? Don't you have turn signals? Ever hear of the rules of the road? Why are you hesitating??? OH I was SO not cruising along nicely. It's easy to hate the holidays. OK OK so maybe I am misfiring a bit but I'm glad that the rush is finally over.

We had a foot of snow on Monday. I feel sorry for whoever it was that drives the cute red convertible who was either stranded at the Y, or dead at the Y, because he didn't get that car out of the parking lot for three days. I hope he had money for the vending machine. I know I never do. NOTE: shoveling by hand burns 408 calories an hour, just less than the 507 I WOULD have burned if I could have made it to the gym that day.

So I put some air in my tires, cleaned out the trunk, and filled up my tank (several times, apparently, according to the flashing digital readout on the scale in the Ladies Locker Room, which, in case you didn't notice, has not been stolen yet). I even made a donation to the coat drive, and was nice to a new member during the New Year's Day membership drive. I didn't drive once even a little bit under the influence, and checked out why my left turn signal has been flashing like crazy lately (the dealer told me I have a bulb out somewhere, which I do not, at least not on my car anyway). It is not fixed yet, so surely the drivers behind me are convinced I'm in a huge hurry to turn, which I usually am.

I got so cold after being driven through an hour on a spinning bike today that my indicator lights were BOTH on when I went upstairs to lift weights - it was very obvious due to my tight fitting tank top. Motor Mouth was there, and still at it later in the hot tub. And what's with the new lifeguard - she's so NICE it's not normal. She's another one that keeps verbalizing about her workout, like I care. Mighty Mouse must have just gotten her driver's license. I know this for sure because she's young, she's new, and she is SO cool because she can drive, so now she doesn't need to be nice to anyone.

I discovered it's hard to text and shift gears and modulate the clutch all at the same time, so I'm doing my best now to make good decisions and pay attention. I haven't made any resolutions, but I promised myself not to start any new BAD habits in 2011, the year that the Pillsbury Dough Boy and I both turn 50. This may be an omen, but I'll keep surging ahead, at least until I hit the next red light.

Running in Place

Did you ever feel like you're crazy busy, trying to do 60 things at once, with all kinds of plans only to find out it's Friday, again, and you aren't any further ahead??? Sort of like doing 5K on a treadmill. Hey, look - I'm right back where I started, except now I'm all sweaty! What have I been doing for the past 35 minutes????

It's almost the end of the year. Time to consider the year's accomplishments and milestones, or lack thereof.

• I have lost no weight, but I haven't gained any either.
• I am almost a year older, but not more mature or wise. I guess if you can't stay young you might as well stay immature.
• I am making more money, although I've managed to spend it (not always wisely).
• I have more grey hair, but so do most of my friends.
• I had to repair my car twice, but at least I wasn't at fault.
• I am more flexible, but I'm not any taller. Nor have I started shrinking. Yet.

These are things to be thankful for. I think. Every time I consider the idea of a New Year's resolution I feel inspired, even though I know damn well I'll fail. Here are a few of my recent personal goals:

• Play with the cats more. Maybe they won't howl in the middle of the night. Didn't. Still left the house really early almost every day, busy when I got home. Bob, however, has gotten much better singing MEOW. Very loud and his projecting is excellent.
• Be more patient. I read things, even books and stuff, and while I might have learned a few hot tips, like Listen More, I still get anxious when I get behind Little Miss Speed Limit.
• Eat only calories that count. I have modified this so it does not including drinking wine.
• Work harder at work. I think as long as others perceive that I am working hard I'm covered. REMINDER: Don't spend too much time on Facebook and Lover Boy's emails.
• Paint the bedrooms. I did one. I think this counts.

So here we are with Christmas only a week away. I may not be spinning my wheels, exactly, not like I did trying to get to the Y last Sunday when the roads iced up overnight, but it's time again to draw up a New S.L.B. Strategic Plan:

• Drink less. Remember those nights you almost died. But hey, what's a couple of beers???
• Read more. This does not include surfing the web.
• Think big, have vision, and don't let the little things bring me down. If only this idiot doing 30 in a 45 zone would try using the pedal on the right.

Let's see in a year or so how well I've managed! I do know one thing: I have great friends at the Y. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Time Off, and love to all. May all your wheels and gears keep spinning, and may you stay on the asphalt and not end up in the ditch.

La La Land

I love it when I can relax during my workout and get into a groove. I call that place La La Land. There is no one there but me. I am the Queen Space Cadet and proud of it!

It is a beautiful place. It can be anything I want it to be. Sometimes I am by the ocean and the sky is blue with puff-puff clouds, or on a long stretch of smooth asphalt that is all downhill with the wind in my hair, or in a dark green glassy sea. All good until I open my eyes and discover that I'm inside, that it's December and it's cold and dark outside, and there are people around that, despite my best efforts, won't go away. The clouds are really TV monitors, the wind is from a fan, and the taste in my mouth is chlorine, not salt, and I just about hit the wall at the end of the lap lane. Totally spaced.

Tinkerbell was in La La Land when I tried to join her in her lane in the pool last week. She spooked when she saw me sitting there waiting to get her attention. I asked if I really looked that bad. If she was OK. Was she SURE she was OK. If I could get in. Was she SURE that was going to be OK. Giggle fits are a great way to get your heart rate up and start your workout.

On Thursday I finally found La La Land on the spinning bike. I closed my eyes and just focused on the workout. Teacher led us on some big hills and I temporarily escaped, my royal little legs pumping like mad. Then, suddenly, I was back in the real world: Teacher wrapped up class by informing us that she won't be doing spinning classes after the end of the month. I was out of breath to start with, then the wind got kicked out of me. NO I wanted to shout! Just because you have a full time job and two kids? What about ME? I staggered off to work on the mats. They never turned into anything cool. Just dirty old mats. I was sad.

No good gossip this week. Poison Ivy is everywhere. I hope I win the basket raffle - the one with the wine in it. Bored already and it's only December. I think it's time to start something. Maybe we can go around and pick our favorite space cadet and ask them if they know where La La Land is.

Tips for Not Overeating

As we all fight to lose a few pounds before the holidays (and before we see the family, thus, hopefully, attenuating their chances of telling us we've put on a few pounds since the last get together), we know the real driving force to those extra long workouts is really to eat more (and drink more) than we usually do without ballooning.

There is an abundance of good advice out there for not overeating. Here are some of my favorites, qualified with some advice of my own (not always good advice, FYI):

• Drink at least two glasses of water before eating. According to an August 23 report from the American Chemical Society, over the course of 12 weeks dieters who drank water before meals, 3 times a day, lost about 5 pounds more than dieters who did not increase their water intake. Alternatively, I suggest that if you happen to eat only one huge meal and drink way too much wine that you should drink at least 6 glasses of water after indulging yourself so you don't get sick from being dehydrated, another serious health risk we ALL want to avoid, right?
• Limit your eating to one plate. I can pile up a dinner plate pretty high. I'm sure you can too. Of course this means you get to eat as many appetizers as possible, as long as you only use a cocktail napkin, toothpick, or fingers. I suggest if you take a bite out of a before dinner treat that you don't like just put the uneaten part back on the tray. You will certainly eat less this way, and so will your friends and family.
• Stick to eating raw veggies before dinner. Let's see, what shall I have? Shrimp cocktail? Bacon wrapped scallops? Camembert? NO - I'll have a carrot stick! Please pass the dip.
• Wear tight fitted clothing. They are tight fitting: that's the problem! I suggest you wear something loose. It will get tighter, trust me, and you'll be able to breathe, which is good.
• Slow down. You have ALL AFTERNOON to eat. So slow down!
• Only eat the foods that you enjoy most and avoid the ones you don't. The catch is: I like it all! This is stupid advice.
• Get active after dinner. Yes, of course! After I clear the table, do the dishes, put the leftovers away, start the stock, finish off the bottle, and finally sit down after cooking and cleaning and bustling all day, that's exactly what I'm going to do with my stuffed body! NOT. Actually, I can't even see my feet. Pass the clicker.

The Y was open from 8 to 12 on Thanksgiving Day but I opted for a walk in the woods instead. It was lovely, except I didn't get signed up for spinning class next week, which sucks. Today, Black Friday, there were all kinds of folks on the road at 5:30 a.m. I couldn't figure out why, at first. I blame the wine. Anyway, despite the mild hangover and dehydration I had a great little workout. Gotta finish those leftovers.

Pat Me Down, Baby!

This week in the news it seems that the most important issue, more than Prince William's engagement (?), is TSA screening. Touch my junk.

Ooooooh that feels funny. Keep going. Nope - nothing under there. Check again. Whoooop! Yes, close but no cigar. HAH! Missed it again! Try between my cheeks again - you might get lucky! Somehow I can't wait until I hit the airports in January. Not that I'll be concealing anything, but for a middle aged, long married woman it could be a bit of a thrill to be fondled by a lady in uniform.

Especially if it's early early in the morning and I haven't really woken up yet. There are charts at the Y that outline "perceived exertion". I think what the early morning crew needs is a chart for "perceived exhaustion". (1-2): "I'm not tired! I slept for a change for a full 8 hours straight through the night and I feel great!. (3-4) I am a bit tired and I only got up once during the night to drink some water and have a pee and fold the clothes in the dryer!. (5-6) Damm alarm I was having a very cool dream and I could have slept in but I don't want to chance missing spinning class next week to so I'll get up and go to the Y but this totally sucks I need a break!. (7-8) I'm exhausted I can't get my contacts in where are my sneakers I hope I get my bike, parking spot and locker I need 3 ibuprofen damn another red light the problem with the world is everyone else!. (9-10) I can't move a muscle not today not ever I need a beer why is this TSA guy zooming me???.

Well, you get the picture. For me the idea of a pat down is a a whole lot more exciting than knowing whether the Archbishop of Canterbury, or Archie Bishop of Canterberry, will be presiding over the UK's royals' wedding. I just hope the broadcast is at a reasonable hour, EST.

Regrouping

When it's obvious that routine has taken over your life, it's time to mess with it and regroup. This will tax your brain.

I have changed lockers to Row #2 to avoid Poison Ivy. I have conversed and exchanged names with several members at the Y that I've known for years but have never gotten to know. I don't remember any of their names but finally I can now find my locker. Nice to make a few new acquaintances.

After a 2 mile swim I have dessert. By this I mean 15 minutes in the hot tub. On Friday there were 10 men rub a dub dub in the tub so I went into the sauna instead. It was lovely - hot, quiet, smelling of cedar, until Backfloat Bob joined me and I had to listen to a long and detailed report on a Midwestern Y he was at last week that had everthing except a bar. Brain cramp.

Five of us went to Lake Placid last weekend and enjoyed great conversation, good food, a nice hike and lovely surroundings. I didn't get a chance to do a blog entry or laundry or plant bulbs or rake leaves or clean bathrooms or do my nails or shop for Christmas or iron clothes or work out but it was SO much fun. Once I figured out how to let it go and relax a bit it was heaven. And the best part about housework is if you don't do it this weekend it will still be there next weekend. As will the leaves in our yard. Go figure. I'm still trying to catch up: my brain says get at it but the rest of me wants Chardonnay and HBO.

My usual is MT: Run/Weights/Matwork. WFSun: Swim. RSat: Spin/Weights/Matwork. Sun: Pilates. Nice to be in control until you wake up one morning and YOU CAN'T WAKE UP so you skip the workout and it is all good, especially the breakfast part. Change is good, but what's scary is I'm so wrapped up in the routine that I actually have a hard time remembering the day of the week if I switch off. THEN they change the morning desk people and the Thursday lady is there on Tuesday! Stitch and Poobah are back at the gym after several weeks off and I know they are are happy to be back. It sucks to have to take time off from the Y because things hurt or you aren't feeling well. Choice is better than change, that's for sure.

I still have the same parking spot and it's nice to be next to Peanut but I might switch off just to see if I can find my car when I finish working out.

Time to regroup. A good friend died last week and I'm having a hard time with it because now I need to find someone else to bounce things off of. I'm glad I have my friends at the Y. I really appreciate your love and support. NOTE: I'm trolling for a go-to person. Be warned. xxx

UP DOWN UP DOWN

Taking fitness classes can make you feel like you're in the Suburban Army. UP DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN. And I do as I'm told, which, as you might imagine, is not my M.O. UP DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN. Pant. Pant. Pant.

Teacher LOVES "jumps". This is where you ride your spinning bike seated, position "2", then take it to position "3", up off the seat and pumping with all you've got, then back to "2", then back to "3", "2", "UP", "DOWN", "UP", DOWN". You get the picture. Fairly grueling, and I don't even have balls.

It's an intense workout - pretty challenging. Teacher asks, "How's everyone doing???". No one answers because WE CAN'T BREATHE. She's beating everyone's pace, telling us what to do, paying attention to the routine AND watching to see if anyone has died yet. And then she smiles. Sweat is pouring off my nose, boogers are imminent, my hands are slipping off the handlebars, and she's smiling. Even at the end of the workout she looks great, because, of course, she's alot younger and really pretty. Me? I look like I'm in the Suburban Army after a battle with zombies. I'm beet red, soaked with sweat, and my hair, which I've been growing out, is all over the place (I've just managed to get it into a stupid looking little ponytail for the first time this week).

When Teacher's voice is in my head during my other workouts I find myself really pushing, which is a good thing, because my usual is to think more about form and what's for dinner tonight. Lifting weights is alot about UP DOWN UP DOWN. Running is also a good deal of UP DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN (especially when my left knee is acting up). Swimming is also alot of UP DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN. Through it all, I also try to remember to breathe. This is essential, especially if you are swimming.

Creepy Old Guy always gets in the pool at the stairs and does the UP DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN from lane to lane to lane until he gets to the one he's decided to swim in. Very weird.

If I'm UP that's where I want to be. If I'm DOWN I fight it. With elections next week I've got to be thoughtful about RIGHT AND LEFT. And since it's Halloween tonight I'll be watching out for zombies. I'm fit and ready for fight. Bring it on. It's sometimes the ONLY way to vision my way through those tough workouts.

Sharing

At 5:15 a.m. on Friday all the swim lanes were occupied by just one person. I arrive. Someone was going to get lucky and get ME in the lane with them. Who will I pick on???

I scan the offerings. There is always my pick of fat boys but they make waves and take up alot of space. A few little women, like me, but nicer, might make room, but they are just a little too intense and competetive and, let's face it, younger and stronger than I am, so I pass on those choices because I don't want to feel old. Stefanaki is okay but he does the butterfly, which means swallowing water. So I pick on T.B.B. Again. Sorry, sweetheart. I guess that's what you get for being such a nice lady. I'll make a point of picking on someone else next time, I promise.

Davey Boy has always been a good lane splitter. He keeps to his side, butterflies when it won't drown the other swimmer, doesn't race, and staggers off the wall so we aren't swimming side by side. I like to get in with him when his wife, Evil Lifeguard, is in the highchair. Maybe she'll squirm. Hey, I am half naked, FYI.

Awhile later I get the lane to myself. Sweet cheeses - so nice to spread out and go into the zone (a.k.a. La La Land). I can kick, snort, speed, smooth out and do my thing without worrying about kicking, smacking, punching, or spitting on anyone (or having the same done to me). Out of the corner of my eye I spy someone entering the pool deck. Who are they going to pick on??? I try to feign ignorance of their arrival.....

Some will sit quietly on the benches and observe. They wait and decide who to pick on. Others ponder, stroll abit, stalk a lane, then try to get the swimmer's attention and ask, as sweetly as they know how at 5:45 in the morning, if the person minds sharing a lane. I TRY to be nice, most of the time, but I hate that it's always the small women that get picked on first (especially if I'm in Lane One - very popular with Beginners). Others just get in and start swimming without any effort at being nice, or safe. Like Fat Blowfish Lady. I can raise alot of water when I kick, trust me on this.

And then there are those folks that I really like, that I'm always happy to share a lane with, and I remember that conversely I never like to wait, and that I really SHOULD be nice, knowing how it feels to be the one that wants in. Lover Boy is a good lane splitter. So is K-Too. And Peanut, wherever she is. And Poobah. Hey, Poobah - I miss you. Are you all better??? It will be nice to have you back in the pool. But there's always others that I will try to discourage. Like the Spitter. And JOJ. And LCD. And Miss Middle of the Lane. And Creepy Old Guy. Elbows out: Sharing ain't nearly as sweet as having a lane all to yourself.

The smell of success

Laps. Sets. 5K on the treadmill. It's October and indoor workouts start to be the norm for those that work 9 to 5 M-F 365 less 3 weeks off for annual leave minus a few days for calling in sick and a few public holidays. Except for the rain and wind, the weather during the day can be quite lovely. Too bad now it's dark until 7 a.m. and the traffic at 6 p.m. is a nightmare (so no running or biking at that hour, unless you wish a tragic exit). The Gym Junkies are back at the gym.

Thank gawd for underarm deoderant. I think that it rates quite high in terms of significant inventions for the 20th century. This, and brownie mix. I don't know what life would be without them, really.

I like to do my aerobic before the anaerobic part of my workout. This way I have all my high energy to devote to killing myself on a spinning bike, treadmill, or elliptical before I crap out on the mats or try to lift weights. Plus, I haven't talked myself out of killing myself on a spinning bike, treadmill, or elliptical, which is easy to do if you O.D.'d on brownies the night before. The end result is I'm all sweaty and stinky and, without my Avon lady (who happens to be the wife of the 6' 2" night cleaner at the Y that brings me my order; he happens to have lovely skin, FYI) you might notice I'm not quite fresh.

That's why I always loved swimming the best. Put in a couple of miles in the pool and you never break a sweat. The clean sweet scent of chlorine is all that you carry with you (for a couple of hours even after your time in the pool, despite the shower with perfumey soaps, lotions, creams, sprays, and powders). MEN: Please refrain from using Old Spice after you shave before you swim. I can taste it in the water and it is nasty.

It was a Glade moment when I stepped into the spinning room at 5:05 on Thursday morning. I think Orange Puke was the scent being thrown off by the electified air fresheners that they must have just installed. I'm still trying to decide if it was worse or better than B.O. At least after 5 minutes or so of huffing it up some imaginary hill I stopped noticing it. Maybe I should be thankful.

Insomnia

For us aging gym junkies there is nothing more frustrating than not being able to get a good night's sleep when you're trying to workout really early in the day. Except maybe getting behind Little Miss Speed Limit when you're in a big rush to get to the gym.

Up at 4:15 a.m. Exercise, get cleaned up and speed off to get to the job by 9:00 a.m. Work all day, get home, regroup, eat, and fall asleep. Correction: CRASH. It's 9:00 p.m. At least this time of year it's dark outside so I don't feel like such a wuss going to bed so early. But I can't help it. I'M TIRED. When I was a teenager and into my twenties staying up late was cool. I went out late and stayed out late and tried to stay up even later, sometimes all night, and it seemed I could get by the next day just fine on a just a few hours sleep. Speaking of staying up all night and having a good time: Wonder Woman went to Vegas and never came back.

Anyway, NOW: I think "I'm tired. I want to sleep. Blankets. Pillows. Peace." Earplugs: check. Cat: check. Glass of water: check. Alarms set: check. Down I go. Sweet.

Until 2:00 a.m. when I wake up. Then I realize that now it's 4:00 a.m. and I'm still awake. GAWD. And just so you know, that there should be no worries (at least for today), I've managed to solve all the world's problems in just a couple of hours. No thanks necessary, folks, it's my pleasure to help out. I've also remembered all the important details of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Polk, planned meals for the next 5 months, and designed my garden for next summer. Good to get all that stuff taken care of, I assure you. I was up all night on Friday but I did at least notice that Adam was not Becky, our usual spinning instructor on Saturday morning, which is a good sign.

Last night's insomnia attack was pretty bad. Second night in a row. I turned off the alarms. When I did fall back to sleep it was only long enough to wake up again and know I still had time to get to the pool for when it opens but decided not to. Sigh. Top off the frustration of not sleeping with a touch of guilt and you only get one thing: pasta for breakfast. I'm glad it's Sunday.

They say the only cure for insomnia is to get more sleep. If I go to bed at 7:00 tonight and wake up at 2:00 a.m. it will be WORSE because I'll have gotten enough sleep. I'll have to wait until 5:00 a.m. because the aliens have the Y at night. I'll get behind Little Miss Speed Limit, again. And I'll hope that the water is nice and cold so I wake up in time for work.

Aliens at the Y

I have evidence that there are aliens, yes, real aliens from outer space, who are Y members. They only use the facility at night after the humans vacate. This is what I know:

They are very large. This is certain because in the morning the seats on the bikes in the spinning room are set as high up as they can go. That's about four and a half feet high. So these aliens, at least the ones that like to spin, must have really looooooooooong appendeges in order to reach the pedals. I assume they pedal with their "legs", but of that I'm not sure. In addition, it isn't unusual to find the squat shoulder pads sitting at about 6 feet, meaning our overnight guests could be well in excess of 7 feet tall. I've been in early and found the rack loaded with the heavy weights, so we know they are strong, too. PLUS - they always push the mats together outside the main door to the Fitness Center. These mats are sized for earthlings, after all. It's good to know that they are working on flexibility and abs, as much as they are on "cardio" and strength.

And I know they have hearts because two of the treadmills have been "out of order" for a couple of weeks now. I'm sure that these two units have been set up just for our nightime members. I tried both of them one morning, turned them on in turn (trying to find one for an earthgirl), and immediately the belt was going really fast and the heart attack monitor was going off. I think, in addition to having really long appendeges, that they "walk" really really fast. Their natural heart rate is way slower than ours are. Apparently just stepping on these two treadmills is enough to set off the alarms if you are human. Of course, I reported it, and nothing has been done, so there must be a reason. But I'm not deceived.

Lately it must be rutting season, or they've started up a boot camp, or something, because there is evidence that aliens have been cruising around in the parking lot at night. In the heat of whatever they are doing they exude some kind of tarry substance, leaving squiggly lines of this black, gooey material all over the asphalt. A "paving crew" has been in there the last few days, but I can't figure out why they would be there as early as 5:00 a.m. when it's not even light out. I think they're the FBI and that they are on to what's going on around here. I looked for Muldor but no luck. Sigh.

Most, if not all, of the aliens like the pool: they drink chlorinated water. I know this because their pee is blue. And they are all male, as evidenced from the fact that they leave the toilet seats up and they don't flush. Ask anyone who is there when the facility opens in the morning (for us humans).

So I believe there's a reason why the overnight "cleaning" staff are all big guys, and that our facility isn't open 24/7. Keep an eye open. There's a chance some of them might be there during "open" hours.....

S.L.B. Through the Lookin' Glass

Just like Alice, I thought. Here I was at the East Greenbush Y and everything was the same, except backwards. Or at least slightly twisted and a bit morphed.

Our pool was closed for maintenance last week, even though the dusty fish hanging from the ceiling are still there and no cleaner, I'm sure. I did the 15 highway miles to East Greenbush twice to go for a swim, and, unlike Maintenance 2009, at least a coyote didn't cross the road right in front of me on my way out, making me think: Where the f&*# am I!???

The layout is almost exactly like our gym but everything is a bit different. Very creepy. The weirdest part was that East Greenbush also had a Jack Off Joe, a Miss Middle of the Lane, and a Wonder Woman, only JoJ had a mustache, MMotheLane was fat, and WW was blonde. Same folks, only backwards. When Tweedledum and Tweedledee went at it in the locker room, complaining about who knows what, I realized I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

The pool was green, not blue. And the water was salty, not tongue numbingly chlorinated. The lighting was subdued, not overlit (I look better in low light, FYI). The salty water was really gross. Made me think of pee. After 2 miles I half imagined I was at a beach (delerious, for sure) and looked forward to crapping out on the sand. Get this: they have a mop inside the door from the pool with instructions to clear your puddles if you didn't dry off before entering. Bite me, E.G.

I liked being anonymous. I wondered if they had a name for me. When Sharin' arrived I almost couldn't place her. The lifeguard starting hitting on her (she's gorgeous and buxom, unlike yours truly) giving her tips on how to improve her stroke. HEY: Take the highchair honey, she's more than you can handle. Safely.

So we're back in our own pool, the whirlpool is open, as is the sauna, and the gym, and we're getting back into the routine. The colors are right, all the equipment and lighting are as expected, the hot tub jets are as they should be. Sweet. I have to wonder if dreamt the whole thing. NOT. Nice to be back. I missed you guys.

Balance

There are two sure fire ways to lose your balance: giggling, and not giggling.

If I'm feeling way too serious about everything then I know that it's time to take a break during my exercise regime to make faces at Peanut while she's trying to stand still on one foot until we both start giggling and she falls over. 2 points.

Strength. Endurance. Speed. Flexibility. Balance. These are the goals, but balance is definitely something I need to work at. Before she fell over, Peanut and I were practicing balance exercises early last week. We did "trees" - on a windy day, for sure. Just trying not to fall over was pretty funny. I think I like stability balls for the same reason. If you lose your concentration it's easy to roll over. Guitar Man can kneel on the ball with his hands over his head. "BOO!" Hee hee.

Christening someone with their secret "pool name" is also good for a laugh. Sharin' and I had fun on yesterday talking about The Spitter. Every wheezy breath he takes sounds like "kgkgkgh" (stroke) "kgkgkgh" (stroke) "kgkgkgh" (stroke), then, when he gets to the wall he horks and blows and spits. NYC bus drivers took 3200 days of paid leave last year to heal from the workplace injury "being spit on by passengers". When I see The Spitter I am prepared to move as far away as possible, since now I know that being spit on is, according to the Transport Workers Union "...physically and psychologically traumatic". I'm guessing that just being grossed out probably doesn't hold up in court.

Diet and exercise. Work and play. Meditation and conversation. It's all about balance. Poobah says I have a good backstroke and looked like Esther Williams in the pool last week. But she had Balance. I remember her water skiing on a stack of pretty ladies - and she was still smiling! I think Little Bug is working too hard but she's opened a beautiful new store and I know it's going to be a success because even a cheapskate like me plans to go back and buy some really chic stuff. I wish her Balance, since I know she's stressed. Glad to see she is still finding time to swim, and to smile. Mental note to self: tell her she is loved and, next time I see her, try to make her giggle. She needs it worse than I do.

Being Refreshed

Stress can take over, if you let it. If you think I'm S.L.B. now imagine what I would be like if I didn't work out.

I am not normally the type of person who sets "personal goals", especially ones like "spend more time with family" or "quit drinking" or "be more patient" because I've tried these things and discovered I was more successful at "make more 'me' time" and "drink nicer wines" and "race around passing lane road hogs". Homer Simpson onced remarked "Can't do it? Don't try". I can live by that motto.

Pretty soon they will close off part of the Y so they can refinish the hardwood floors. That should smell nice. Anyway, I'm already anxious about it. Then the week after that they will close the pool. Argh! If I want to swim I'll have to go elsewhere. I went to the Beast Beangush pool a few times last year when they closed our pool. It's the same floorplan as our Y but the details are different. It's like a bad dream: you are walking through the place and you know where everything is but the reception desk is in a different location, the tiles are a different color, the pool water is green/not blue. At 5:00 a.m. driving down I90 I almost hit a coyote crossing the road. Where the f*** am I??? What am I doing out here?????????????? But I know at least when they re-open our pool that it will be CLEAN and clear and free of things like bandaids and gum, so that's a good thing. Let it go. Let it go.

If I get to wake up and get all the way to the Y in the morning without dealing with pesky husbands, tailgaiters, Hurly Burly, construction, and assholes cutting through the parking lot on a definite diagonal, I'm great. I can have a good workout and get through the day with grace and humor. But it seems more often than I care to admit these days I get zipped by the little things and feel I have this lingering need to be refreshed - to relax a bit more, enjoy the beautiful moonshadow as I drive down 155, even to be thankful for new compression shorts, and not let things get to me so easily. So I decided to set a few personal goals.

1. Draw up a Will, Living Will, Health Care Proxy, Power of Attorney. I'm not planning on popping off anytime soon but I made the appointment so I'll finally get this taken care of just in case I drop dead on the treadmill.
2. Figure out what to do with my parents in their old, old age if they decide to bless me with moving to Albany. Make up a portfolio to hand to them if they have any questions.
3. Stop letting the little things, like the awful foam soap in the showers, get me down. Focus on the long term goals, the big picture, like surviving your 18th birthday. Every year past that, as far as I'm concerned, is a gift.

It's Friday night. Second glass of Pinot Grigio. I feel happy doing this blog and taking the night off, without anyone around (including Pesky Husband). I feel relaxed. Refreshed. It was a good week at the gym and a good week and work. Let's see how things go next week.

Elbow Room

The Littlest Mermaid is being elbowed out by Big Fat Ugly Man. We had fun rolling our eyes at each other when he hogged the best jet in the hot tub last week. He has been shunned.

When she was first at The Good Jet earlier this week he sat really really close to her so he could be the first to take it over when she vacated. Like anyone with a tailgater the best most fun tactic is to drive really really slow and take your left turn realllllly sloowwwwwwwww just to be annoying. I am proud to know The Littlest Mermaid sat there extra long and made him wait.

They were doing "maintenance" in the Ladies Locker Room on Monday so we all had to use the Children's Locker Room instead, complete with smaller lockers, smaller shower stalls, no makeup/hairdrying space except the sinks (conveniently located right next to the toilets so gawd forbid all that exercise made your system work for you and you need a bit of privacy). Puppy Sweet Cheeks took over five lockers for all her things. I think I have some competetion there. Anyway, the funniest part was 8 of us all trying do our makeup, dry our hair, and also make room for those that needed to wash their hands after using the loo in the space of two sinks, including Butch, who, by the way, appears to be female in all respects. We did fine except for blowing a fuse because we had more than two hair dryers running at the same time. What can we say? Sometimes the Y sucks.

The Children's Locker Room has a working scale, FYI. The new chintzy one that they put in the Women's Locker Room is a small, digital scale. Very nice. I weighed myself on it, went for a pee, then came back and weighed myself again and it appeared that I lost 4 ounces. That was satisfying. Except now the battery has already died after just one week. I made a bet with Cookie that within 3 weeks the stupid thing will get stolen. If you want to get in on the bet just let me know.

One of the best reasons for going to the gym early in the morning is Elbow Room. It's not as crowded as later in the morning ("don't these people have jobs"?, you might moan to yourself on those days that you aren't working or get to go to work late), or in the evening (and in the evening it's mostly dysfunctional crazy stressed out working folks and youngins posing and looking for pickups and they do look good, by the way), and bonus points: the toilets are clean. So you've got all this lovely space and some stinky guy decides to take up residence on the bench, or the bike, or the treadmill right next to you when there are many others they could have chosen instead. Grrrrrrrrrrr. Chill out, S.L.B. - everyone needs elbow room to do their thing, including me.

Which is why I left my weekend company to their own devices and ventured forth for a workout both Saturday and Sunday instead of playing hostess, hoping they would all have showered and eaten and had some privacy so I could come back home and eat right away because I Am Starved and then we can just get on with the day. Except that they hadn't showered, or eaten. They Slept In. My cat, Bob, is obviously not doing his job of howling at the top of the stairs the way he does normally. I smooched him and explained the situation and suggested he scratch at some doors tomorrow morning.

We can all get along as long as we know when to make a little room for others in our lives, and when to put our elbows out. Right now I've got my elbows out and company went to the movies and I get some privacy and a chance to do a blog. Life is good.

Weighing In

A woman's weight is a very personal thing. No one would dare ask you, it seems, except if you are thin. NOTE: Like everyone else, even I am going to lie about my weight.

There was a public librarian in Iowa who was fired from her job a few weeks ago because she wouldn't reveal her weight and height for a new city ID card. They insisted they needed this data in case there was an "emergency where they needed this information to identify her". Whatever the hell kind of freakin' emergency do they think will happen at a little public library in the middle of nowhere??? More power to you, girl. I think even if she HAD filled out the form she likely would have lied about her weight anyway. Stupid bureaucrats.

When I went to the doctor a few weeks ago she put me on the scale, fully clothed, with shoes, and recorded my weight in my file. Then she made me take my shoes OFF to measure my height. I said NO FAIR you have to reweigh me, which she did. I made her change her data. I watched just to make sure.

The scale in the ladies locker room has been fussy the past couple of weeks. On Monday (after two days of eating) I got on and shifted the counterbalance up a pound, one more, two, three, SEVEN!? YIPES. NO WAY. I checked and sure enough it didn't balance at zero. I reported it and found out later that in fact it was busted and is going to be replaced, hopefully with a scale that isn't as chintzy as the old one. I was thinking of all those really really really fat women that had been dieting like crazy and working out every day only to discover their weight was going up and up and up. Do they work out more or give up entirely? I guess they will have to weigh their options.

I've seen women so obsessed that they weigh themselves before and after their workout. Did anyone see the laminated signs on the fitness equipment upstairs that read "Single Set Users Have the Right Away". They finally changed the signs but not before many of us more alert gym junkies had a good laugh. Anyway, we may need the same kind of sign on the scale in the ladies locker room.

One big guy told me after a spinning class a while back that he had weighed in at work as part of a Weight Watchers program only to find out he had gained 7 pounds in the past year. In April I gained 5 pounds in one week on vacation. Have I lost it yet? I'll never tell.

If you've lost weight - way to go! - if not (and you're trying), you may have a way to go, but don't give up. Welcome to the Y. Now go away. Uh, I mean, have a nice day!

Pressure

Keep pushing. Go a little further, lift a little more, go a bit faster, but don't give up until it hurts, which is most of the time.

This time it's my back. I have no idea what I did to it - probably something stupid like trying to pick up my beer when I should have had the help get it for me. But do I stop working out? Not a chance. I go for a massage. The lady I've been seeing knows just where to find the sore spots, the ones that she pushes at that make me flinch and she says "sorry sorry" then keeps at it until it actually feels better. Worth every penny. No pressure.

I told my doctor that I can swim the first mile just fine, then it starts to hurt. Her advice: Stop after one mile. That will be a $20 co-pay, please. Squeeze. I tell myself I just have to change my workout for awhile, maybe take out a second mortgage.

"Push" the spinning instructor shouts out, "PUSH". I sit up front in the coat closet they call the spinning room. Bike #2. My bike. Anyway, I can't see anyone except three other people. After class yesterday Spinning Instructor told me that half the class just putzed along. I suggested maybe they were out of shape, hurting, half asleep (we start at 5:30, FYI), or hungover, and I know about the hangover workouts. Today I swam my mile and just did some mat work. It was great - nice and easy - relax, relax. It was tempting to just crap out with a juice box and ask the lady in the fitness center for Story Time, but maybe that would be pushing my luck.

I had a general physical on Wednesday. Everything was good - except my blood pressure, that is, so I'll have to make some changes. Meditation, deep breathing, less salt. One of the recommendations I read was to eat an ounce of 70% chocolate a day. So I will force myself to do this too - I'm sure it won't be easy. FYI it goes great with beer and pretzels. The pressure is on.

Being Cool

When you're 15 there is nothing more important in the whole wide world than being cool. If you aren't cool by the time you are in your late 40s then face it: YOU ARE NOT COOL.

Appearing bored does not mean you are cool. Wearing retro 70s clothes that are cut too low, too tight, and are too bright will not disguise the fact that you are not cool (and that you are over 40). Talking too much is not cool (best left to tedious drunks anyway).

What's with that old lady who wears her sunglasses in the pool? Let's call her PolarEyes. I don't think she is trying to be cool. Maybe she's ducking the paparazzi. Wearing sunglasses is usually cool but in her case it's just weird. Now, that big black dude that sits in the hot tub with his sunglasses on is totally cool. Never says a word but when he does he's really laid back and friendly.

I was working in my library with two salesmen awhile back and I asked politely if they would mind taking the stairs up a level. The one guys says to me "I worked out for an hour this morning on the Stairmaster," then smiled at me like he was so cool. Hey, way not cool. One of the Rules of Cool is never seem desperate. And the Stairmaster of all things??? Too silly for words.

Hey Guys: Totally not cool are cut-off sweatpants, really short shorts, white sport socks pulled up tight around your calves, long loose hair when working out, and making loud grunting noises when you are lifting weights, especially if it looks like you really shouldn't be having a problem lifting them (should I offer to help?). And honestly, try lifting the corners of your mouth for a change. Looking mean will not help if you are still trying to be cool.

For the last 10 days the pool temperature was way too warm. It was Not Cool. But today it was much better - cool and clean and deliciously quiet. And Adonis was there. I think he is cool. He wore black, was very mysterious, and even though I know he could have gone faster and further, he didn't overdo it. I may be a dork, but I feel my own personal coolness skyrocket just being around someone that cool.

Heat Wave

I think one of the best inventions of the 20th century was underarm deoderant/anti-perspirant. Too bad not every one has heard about it.

It's been hot here in upstate NY - upwards to 100 degrees - for over a week now. I have moved slowly (not easy for me as a rule) among my air conditioned house, my air conditioned car, to the air conditioned Y,to the air conditioned car again, to the air conditioned library, back to my car which is now well over 6000 degrees Kelvin, and home to my air conditioned house. I almost ran over a runner at 6:00 pm on Thursday night, temperatures in the 90s. I almost stopped to offer him a ride.

And what's with the Big Sweaty Men, in this weather, going into the sauna and steam room at the gym? "Hey boys, why not just step outside?""If you want to break into a sweat why don't you try doing some exercise for a change?" Needless to say I stayed out of there, and kept my trap shut.

I went to SPAC on Wednesday night. 90 degree temperatures even as late as 11:00 p.m. I wondered what it was like for the dancers, in costume and makeup, under lights, with tights, leaping and twirling about. I wondered if they used Ban, and who does their dry cleaning. But they were beautiful to watch and it all seemed so effortless, like they didn't even notice how hot it was. I was in the balcony crammed in with alot of stinky people, including many that got all dolled up for the ballet only to find themselves all wet and wrinkled before the performance started. Sweat was dripping down the back of my neck and I wasn't even moving. The only thing moving in the balcony were fans and mosquitos, who, as always, found me quite delicious, especially my ankles and the backs of my knees.

Without the weather I wonder sometimes if anyone would have anything to talk about. This week I would politely ask "So how are you?" just to be nice, and all I would get in return was the one word answer, "Hot". I guess I didn't really want to know how anyone was anyway. And that's about it for hot topics in the locker room, too. What a bore. Think about it - what would it be like if there was no sun, nor rain, no snow, no breeze, no change over to darkness, just gray and neutral all the time? We'd have to resort to gossip again.

Ladies, can we please control the talcum powder thing? You are going to sweat right through it anyway. And what's with that strange woman who works out and changes into her work clothes and never showers? Yuck. I'm sure her co-workers are quite impressed with the fact that she exercises.

Remaining Flexible

I hate when things get in my way, life unexpected, especially when I'm already having a hard time keeping it together. Must expand mind, straighten up, spread out, remain flexible, or I'm going to explode. Be warned, Little Bug: next time I come at you with a tension band - RUN.

I slept in until 6:00 a.m.: it's July 5th, Monday, almost no one on the road as I speed off to the Y. ARRGH. I get behind a drunk - weaving all over the place, driving 30, 35, 40, 30 again, in a 45 zone. I was going to take my time and amuse myself by watching him go into the ditch, but instead I passed him doing 65 illegally over two turn lanes, which was great for the heart rate. No time for this! I make it through the yellow light (small victories!) and finally get into the pool. Ahhhhh. It's already 80 degrees out and the water feels SO nice.

Only now I have to deal with The Talker. NOTE TO SELF: Don't get him started. He told me about his vest (even though I didn't ask about it) - it has a built in heart monitor that will help to maximize his workout. When I suggested that it would probably also warn him of a pending heart attack he didn't really get it. I think he repeated himself twice, started into bragging about some competition, sometime, somewhere as I sweetly tuned him out. I really needed this swim. Now. Earplugs in, cap on, goggles squished in place, 80 laps and I didn't need to share my lane. Sweet. No one got in my way.

I had to take a break from swimming, and some weight lifting moves, for over a month earlier this year because I injured my shoulder. I decided to spend extra time focusing on flexibility, figuring more time running or biking would probably kill me. Reach for toes, touch toes, head to knees, head on floor, pull on those hammies. I can do stuff now that I haven't been able to do since Middle School, plus I can drink. Being older certainly has it's benefits. But the trick is to Remain Flexible. Should that be so hard?

That's the problem: so much to do, so little time. I try to stay organized, plan my workouts (with time now also for stretching), my outfits, my work schedule, big projects and routine tasks, my dinner plans, my weekend, an excursion, and Life decides to try and trip me up. I always think it's the measure of the person how s/he deals with problems, conflict and crisis, and I try to Remain Flexible. But wait! WELCOME TO MENOPAUSE. Sometimes I can't shut it off, I toss and turn, I get so mad I stomp around, or so sad I just can't shake it. At least I didn't force buddy off the road but I might the next time.

Friday July 2: 4th of July long weekend approaching and a friend of my husband died suddenly in Nova Scotia, so he (husband) drove up for the service. Left behind with no company - just alot of chores to do on my own. An Aunt died on Saturday. Ugh. More sadness. But I'll try my best to Remain Flexible and enjoy the time off, think of old friends and family and the good times, relax in the hot weather, admire the gardens, and read a good book. I also look forward to My Time at the Y again tomorrow where I can leave my troubles outside that door.

But today I might go buy me one of those crazy vests and go for a drive, see if I can find my heart and get it going again. If you want to come along just let me know! Might be fun.

Hairdo

At 4:30 a.m. I certainly don't look my best, especially if I've actually slept only to wake up with pillow cover wrinkle dinkles carved into my face. These are in addition to the ones I have earned over the past almost 50 years, so I'm an idiot to think anyone's going to notice.

But I try to look at least partly alive, thinking Hurly Burly might just pull me over again, this time for driving dead. I match my shorts to my top to my bra to my socks to my hairband. I wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair, put on lip gloss and deoderant, smile at myself in the mirror, then make a face, and bolt out the door. I'm in a big hurry to get to the Y.

Why do I bother? After 45 minutes on the treadmill I resemble a wet squirrel with its shorts stuck upside its butt. And New Guy is only interested in the younger gals who pussy foot around with their hairdos, perfume, jewelry, makeup, rose tattoos, piercings, and 10 perfect nails. But I console myself, straighten my shorts, lick my tail and nibble on my acorn, knowing they may be cute as the dickens, but I'm still cut. SteveArino told me one day that I looked great. I chomped down on my gum a few times and said in my best NY accent "It's the gum what makes me attractive". NOT.

So I'm checking out New Guy while he's busy zooming the pretty girl that works behind the counter. Then there were all these new guys in the pool this week to check out, many are very cut, and I'm sure I looked my best with my flip flops and cap and suit that all match, and big rings around my eyes from the goggles. One of our area pools is closed this week so we have Interlopers crowding the lanes. But it's okay. Nice to have something hot to look at for a change. Good thing we've got Sharin'. She dresses the place up nice.

Then it's a shower, get weighed, get dressed, dry and style the hair (hairdo), makeup, more makeup, get the cat hair off my pants, underwear, socks, shoes, jewelry, pants, belt, top, get more cat hair off my top, and TA-DA, I'm ready to bolt. I often wish everything matched better but there's NO TIME, I am wearing what I'm wearing even if it looks awful because it's what I packed last night in the dark without trying it on first I have to get to work. Stitch sometimes calls me glamour girl. At least I remembered the bra.

Every year it seems to take me longer and longer to look my best. But I try. In a couple of weeks I am going to a cosmetic party that the Cheater is hosting to buy products that will make our skin as beautiful and youthful as Puppy Sweet Cheeks. I'll bring a checkbook.

Bubbles

I've overheard Poison Ivy for the past 3 days now tell her story to anyone who would listen (or was within 2 feet of her even if they were trying to ignore her) about how she got poison ivy walking out to her mailbox. Yesterday she showed me the bubbles from her poison ivy and told me her story as well. UGH. These are BAD bubbles. Being the sympathetic type, I told her she was infectious and shouldn't even be at the Y. Today I changed lockers - different row. She's wacko.

Changing lockers was weird and wonderful. Three times I went to my old locker and someone else's stuff was in there and I had to take a moment to remember where I'd put my stuff, what day it was, where I was, and wonder do I have to go to work now. Change is good because I got to be nice to a new member in Row Two, I did my good deed! - so now I'm off the hook for a week, back to being S.L.B. Hah! Time to do a blog!!!

Most bubbles are GOOD BUBBLES. I love throwing balloons in the pool when someone has a birthday. And I like bouncing up and down on the stability balls. I like that when I swim I breathe bubbles. And I like little bubbles in my booze. One of my favorites is prosecco, and Strawberry had lots to share at Sharin's engagement party on Wednesday night. What a great time! Everyone was in high spirits, especially me after several glasss of prosecco. Sharin' and her fiance were glowing. They could have floated away in a bubble of love like the one the Good Witch of the North travelled around inside of in The Wizard of Oz. This has been a wonderful change in her life and I hope they get old and fat and happy together. NOTE: If anyone busts Sharin's bubble me and the Cheater are going to take them down.

Bad bubbles are too many little bubbles in too many glasses of prosecco. These are definitely BAD BUBBLES.

We had three lifeguards on Wednesday - the experience was positively effervescent. For 10 years they have only ever had two sleepy lifeguards on duty between 5:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m. It's a long shift and the place is busier than ever - definitely time for a change. The swimmers were happy because we got to spread out, relax, and get into the zone without being forced to move because a lifeguard needs to pee and thus close down lanes. The lifeguards were friendlier because they could go pee (or sleep in the office, or the locker room, or anywhere they can't be found for that matter). I filled out a Suggestion suggesting that they should ALWAYS have three lifeguards on, and put it in the Box, knowing full well that no one will ever read it.

I had a rotten start to my week and the good vibes from the party made me feel better than I have in a long time - thank you, everyone, for getting my head out of that bubble. Kindness is contagious. Poison ivy is also contagious. Poison Ivy wasn't there today. I wonder if she will wait until we have snow to return to the Y, when it might also be safe to finally pick up her mail. That'll be about when they read my Suggestion.

Signs We Don't See

Everything is okay for now. No matter what - strained muscles, marriages, or budgets - no worries! Take it from me: things won't get worse and could, in fact, get much, much better!!! I know this for certain because the "NO TURNAROUND" sign at the corner where we turn into the gym is now down.

Since the NO TURNAROUND sign is down, knowing there's hope, I'm sure I will start looking younger tomorrow when this new $54 bottle of anti-aging lotion is sure to kick in. My neck will also look youthful again. I now know that a sure sign of aging is the crepey neck, something I was blissfully unaware of until I read the last book group selection "I Feel Bad About My Neck". But I won't go as far as Botox Bitch.

I think Botox Bitch is new around here, and she has also apparently taken advantage of the sign being down. Her face doesn't move, and neither does she if you want to get in the lane with her. She also talks on the phone in the locker room, which, if you see the sign, is NOT ALLOWED. So I am shunning her and hope she goes away soon.

I think we need another sign by the hot tub: PLEASE DO NOT DISCUSS POLITICS, SPORTS, or PERSONAL INJURIES. "I don't give a shit" and "you talk too much" are not the perfect comeback when someone starts on any of these topics, but early in the morning I may have forgotten to turn on my brain, so please forgive me if I stare at you instead of responding. Particularly if you launch into What Hurts. Plus, the sign is down (haven't you noticed?) - so there's nothing to be concerned about. At least for now.

So it's okay that my Bicep Femoris has been aching for weeks, that things at home could be better, that Chicago might win the Stanley Cup, and that the NYS budget still hasn't passed. Things can only improve!!! Until the NO TURNAROUND sign goes back up we'll all be fine. Trust me. The orange cones are just a warning.

The Lost & Found

I apparently lost my good round hairbrush at the Y last week so the day I noticed I asked at the front desk if they could check the Lost & Found for it. A look of shock crossed the receptionist's face as she informed me that they throw hairbrushes away because to put them into the bin with the rest of the stuff would be unhealthy. I almost mentioned the theory of Ziploc bags.

I've seen the unclaimed stuff they try to sell at $1.00/pop. I get itchy just looking at it. Is this place so desperate for cash that they can't just drop all that crap in a Goodwill box?

I hate when I lose stuff. I'm a LIBRARIAN for chrissakes - I am wild with organization! Twice in the same week I left my makeup kit in the locker room and both times I got it back. That was lucky, and so is everyone else, because you need to look at me. Puppy Sweet Cheeks once commented on how orderly my gym bag was, smartly chalking it all up to my professional interests. Little did she know that there's no way I'd get all that shit into the bag if I didn't arrange it just so.

I've picked up all kinds of things over the years and returned them to the desk and I've never kept anything for myself: a gold watch, a pair of pretty leather gloves, a diamond encrusted wedding band (that was left on the treadmill just last week - what dumb chick did that, I wonder?), hairdryers, sneakers, sandals, CD players, Spinney's swim gear (since it was wet, I can only assume it did NOT go in the bin, which, as we all now know, would be unhealthy). So if you have my grey winter ball cap that I lost two years ago I'd like to have that back. Thanks.

Eating Well

Once upon a time in a land far far away, during my first semester as an undergad, I ate bagels and cream cheese and coffee for breakfast. It was good. I gained 20 pounds in 4 months. I got seriously chubbo.

The breakfast of champions: 3 ibuprofen and a cup of decaf before I take off for the gym for my workout. There are mornings when, by the end of my routine, instead of focusing on the execise, all I'm thinking about is FOOD. I eat at my desk the second I arrive at work. I always bag my breakfast because I'm in a hurry (always, because I'm starved by this time) and it keeps me from eating crap (like bagels every day).

Most folks are watching their weight, at least to keep it from going up. I gained 5 pounds on vacation last month - it was good. I ate well, and then some. Why does my butt expand and not my bust???

There is a direct connection between good nutrution and good health, and I try to eat right, but no one could ever make give up my bagels. Sharin' caught me having a bagel on Friday morning. She ordered 6 before a trip to NY this weekend so I asked if she was OK to make sure she wasn't going home to eat all of them after a good cry. She assured me all was good. So good, in fact, that she got engaged this weekend! The magic of bagels. Sigh.

We have choices: high fiber, low fat, low carb, unsweetened, non GMO, kosher, vegan, vegetarian, low cal, natural, organic, local, high protein, high in Omega 3 fatty acids, etc. But I admit, every couple of weeks, I just NEED a bagel, with a "schmear". I guess I'll try to start losing those vacation pounds next week.

Countdown

One of the things I've learned by taking classes was the importance of The Countdown. Counting 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. On the left side, 5 ,4 3, 2, 1. Sets. Breathe. Recover. At the end I half expect my butt to eject but so far I've only experienced the occasional polite fart.

For example, we count laps, up and back, in the pool. Today I did 4000 yards, which translates to 80 laps, or "What are you, a crazy woman"? I'm sure the lifeguards find me mildly interesting, more so perhaps than the condition of their nails, half hoping to do a rescue, knowing I'm pushing 50. Being a lifeguard is probably almost as interesting as being a shrub. If a fellow pool dweller tells me "they lost count" in terms or how many laps they've done I always tell them they have to start all over again. I've had a few weird looks. Go figure.

On the treadmill there are, I think, 6 ways from Sunday to track your workout. How fast, number of laps (.25 miles/each), Kcal (translation: killer calories), distance, etc. Then, when you finish your run the stupid thing tells you how far you went, your average speed, and when you will die from a heart attack if you don't slow down. I suppose this is added value for having a Y membership. "GREAT WORKOUT" speeds across the display. I'm bright red and half dead. What crap.

Some days I get to the gym and I'm not feeling all that shit hot - kind of crabby, tired, and stiff. If I am in Spinner mode I set my Resistance at an "8". I don't really want to socialize and again I thank gawd for earplugs and earbugs. In midwinter when most of the exercise I get is indoors, alternating between swimming and machines get pretty sterile. Life is stressful, I work too hard, the problem with the world is everybody else and I gained 2 pounds over the holidays. Not fun.

But the weather is improving. It's May in upstate NY - some of the best weather we can have. It's a wonder to run outside and go as fast, or as slow, or as far as I want. I get on my bike and ride and am absolutely joyful at flying down hills and going really fast. What a release not to count, or countdown, or keep track, or record any part of what is going on with my bod. There I am thinking "Resistance is at a 0". I am free.

Prima Donna

The reading group at the Y just finished "Three Cups of Tea", starring the sweetest, most humble,altruistic person in the universe. I'd eat him alive.

I can't stand a prima donna. Women that think they are something hot and powerful and that everyone else is an idiot. Boob Job complained to our area director that a man was ogling her. Why would he? She's often upleasant, and let's face it, girls, mine may not be much but at least they aren't fake. And the man she reported on is good and kind, like Mortenson in our book. She also left a nasty note on Peanut's car a few months ago complaining she was parking too close. It's 5:00 a.m.! There are a million empty spaces and WE WERE HERE FIRST. She eventually changed spots. Puppy Sweet Cheeks and I are going to plot revenge if this continues. Please let us know if you'd like to join in the fun.

Braggers also drive me nuts. No matter how lovely, smart, rich, or well connected you are there is always someone that is more so, and I don't mean yours truly. I listen to them go on about all their advantages and I want to say they have me confused with someone who actually gives a shit, but having choices I try to keep my trap shut. I remember when people are really nice, but I also remember them when they're mean or obnoxious. Too bad one cannot wear earbuds at social functions. I'll bet Mortenson doesn't feel the need to brag.

So we are sort of a Payton Place but I think most of the folks that come to my gym are pretty wonderful. Over the long term a Gym Junkie just has get along as best as possible, even with the weirdos, the people you don't like, as well as those you might look down upon. You don't want to be labelled and shunned. As we did with Mr. Pink and Won't Shut Up. We haven't seen them in a while. Be warned.

The New Suit

Little Bug loved my new tank suit and asked if it was OK is she bought the same. I thought the garish colors were what I get for buying online.

I had the privilege of enjoying a visit to the beach last week near Destin, Florida. I wore my first 2-piece since high school and except for the broken blood vessels, sagging boobs and grey hair it looked pretty good.

I also bought a new tankini. Actually, I only ordered a top, apparently, so I had to find a bottom that matched, which, speaking of garish colors, Lands End was happy to provide. It fit fine until it got wet then it sagged off my butt like a pantload. Good thing I was drunk when we went to get in the hotel hot tub and that no one knew me. Is sitting in a hot tub during a thunderstorm stupid??? Definitely yes, but it was awesome.

Speaking of new suits we have a very large (think tall, broad) woman at the Y now that is less than modest, walking around in her wrinkled altogether and it's so out there we turn away. Until I was alerted by Sharin' this week that we may have a trans gender member. We haven't yet checked her out so now I'll have to look and see if all her parts are acceptable for the women's locker room. Talk about having a "new suit". My gym is so white and straight it's easy to find the marginalized, and also fun to have someone new to whisper about. Her pool name, FYI, is Butch.

There's nothing like a new suit. It can make you excited to go to the pool, it can make you feel younger (even if you don't look it), and it can even transform you into the opposite. Two of us in the same suit? - now that's a team. I hope Butch doesn't order from SwimOutlet.com.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

K-too had her car robbed last week in the parking lot of the gym. We are all very angry. It happened before 8:00 a.m. which means some creep was sitting in the parking lot watching people to see if they locked up before they went inside. I wonder that they have no fear of us totally fit Gym Junkie heroes all of whom would just love the chance to beat the crap out of them.

Gawd I need a break. So I took today off, decided to let the peasants run the economy for a change. It was so nice to sleep in until 6:00 a.m.

The gym is packed at 9:00 a.m. Don't these people have jobs??? But I had a good swim - back up to 2 miles since a shoulder injury in January - and no jerks to contend with. The sun is out, the tulips are blooming and I'm getting ready for a vacation. So why am I so stressed? Trying to do too much, as usual, I suppose, but everyone seems to be overextended and it's like there's never a time to just fag out and do nothing. Like I would know how.

Cursed little Blackberry............

Poobah says to me "Be Happy". Well, we all try. And we've got The Cheater to keep things fun, even during the most brutal part of spin class. I hope she's around to catch the robbers. First I'm sure she'd beat the piss out of them, then make us giggle so bad about it we'd about piss ourselves laughing.

I've been heard!

Sound carries, especially across a locker room full of gossip mongers. Of course I was listening when the big black lady told Cookie she'd lost her goggles but that they weren't in the Lost 'n Found. So I just said I was eavesdropping when I suggested she check the pool office for them. Might as well be honest.

When I swim I wear ear plugs, sticky white things that keep the water out and also any kind of conversation that's not at an elevated pitch. Half the time I don't hear what people are saying - I nod alot and smile, but most can't hear me either, since they are also wearing ear plugs. When Evil Lifeguard tries to bump me from a lane THEN I REALLY make like I can't hear her. Kind of fun and totally obnoxious at the same time.

Upstairs in the Fitness Center (they tried a couple of years ago to rename it the "Wellness Center" but I think they gave up - sounds like Rehab if you ask me, which, in some ways, it truly is) I wear my shuffle, the volume way up. This is partly to give me ooomph, and partly to block out conversation. It's just that most often I don't care for the chit chat and there are Talkers that don't know how to shut up.

Conversations start out as "WHAT? Sorry - the volume is really loud". SteveArino was trying to say something a few months back and I shouted back at him "Two-hundred dollars?" He went beet red. Maybe you remember the joke about the guy in the bar that tried to talk to the pretty lady a few seats over that dissed him, and on leaving thought to apologize, she gets so tired of being hit on, and "$200" was his response. We're still buds but the embarrassment factor didn't exactly win me any brownie points.

They bought new mats for outside the door to the Fitness Center about a month ago and they were really squishy - no support - they sucked. Why couldn't they replace at least one of the two mats with one that wasn't so squishy, I asked? We complained, of course, among ourselves, and I was told that whoever is in charge said they couldn't do this because "they wouldn't match". So I went to fill out a Suggestion Box form last week, recounting this conversation, saying Isn't That Stupid only to find out that one of the ladies behind the desk was responsible. No brownie points there again, I assure you.

Today I discovered they had switched out one of the mats. I know change is good but choice it better. I've been heard! Jeez Marie this has to be a first.

Listening in on other people's conversations is often amusing, sometimes really irrating (especially if they are really loud), and though the "what factor" of earplugs or a shuffle can be a Godsend, there are those times when we talk and we laugh and we really love and listen closely to the events and the issues that we share. Thanks for listening to me when I need you. I hope that I'm not always so wrapped up inside my own stupid head that I listen and tell you, too, that I care.

In A Fog

I'll eat just about anything and I eat well, but I vowed this year not to spoil my appetite for yummy Greek food by avoiding those before-dinner goodies at my family's Easter gathering. Consequently the wine went right to my head and Monday morning was not pretty. I had a hangover.

I took the morning off and got to the gym late. I don't remember driving there (it's often a surprise, early in the morning, half awake, when I arrive and think "Hey, I'm at the gym! Cool!"). I was in my own world (where at least everyone knows me), in a total fog, and to avoid what promised to be a very dangerous time to get on a treadmill instead I got on the elliptical, which, in case you don't know, has got to be the most boring exercise machine ever. I don't remember the workout: this is a good thing.

There was heavy fog driving in on Wednesday (I think, maybe it was Tuesday?). I was going really fast even though I couldn't see very well, but between knowing the road and Auto Pilot I figured I'd get to my destination just fine. I'm glad the fog inside my head finally lifted in time to see the cop sitting at the side of Western Avenue.

Then I almost walked right into the barriers outside the Women's Locker Room, with signs saying that it was closed for "cleaning". We had to use the Girl's Locker Room instead. The lockers are small, so you have to imagine that my first magic trick of the morning, getting all my shit into a space that is less than 10" x 8" x 60", was quite a feat. Almost didn't need to workout after that.Eventually I went into the steam room. Realizing there were two sweaty fat old guys in there I was again grateful for the fog.

We apologize for being in a fog, and it can be a warning that maybe you need to slow down, maybe have a soda for a change. I'm not giving up my wine (or chocolate; Little Bug - I hope I make you proud), but note to self: Eat More Shrimp. Hangovers suck.

Choices

Every day we have choices to make, like, do I run the yellow light or slam on my brakes instead? At 5:00 a.m. it's usually "run the yellow". What a rush.

Unless some bitch took my parking spot, or my locker, the next big decision is which swim lane I'm going to get into. Earlier this week Lover Boy and I were getting in the pool at the same time, so being as polite as I know how at that hour of the day I gave him first dibs and asked if he wanted the cute black guy or the skinny white guy. He didn't think it was very funny, but I still do.

Sharin' was smart this morning. She had a choice and got in the lane with Mr. Dumbells. She KNEW that this was a Non-Sharing tactic, because you can't swim circles if one person is water jogging. Very smart. I admire her swim sense.

Also this morning Fat Lumbering Man asked the Womanizer and Wonder Woman, two of the fastest swimmers on earth, if they would swim circles with him. NOT. W and WW had a choice and they decided screw that noise, old man, wait your turn. It's hard to choose what to say if it seems mean but they were right. Fat Lumbering Man waited and took another lane. He was veeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry slooooooooooooooooooow.

On Tuesday, 5:00 a.m., driving 48 mph in a 45 zone, stopped at the red light, started on the green, and damn if I got pulled over by a cop. I turned off the music, which was really loud, and waited. Finally Hurly Burly came up to my window and started with the flashlight thing. I had a choice: sit patiently and let him have his fun, or ask "Why did you pull me over?". I asked (was that dumb?). Apparently one of the light bulbs was out over my license plate - THAT'S why he pulled me over! Christ I didn't even know I HAD a light over my license plate. But he let me go, just "Everything's OK - have a nice day." Choice: I wanted to say "Thanks for trying to fuck it up for me" but I didn't.

When I hit the treadmill I had the best run I'd had in weeks. Must have been the adrenaline. Note to self: take more chances - it's a good buzz.

Heroes

Pseudo athletes like myself spend alot of time inside their own heads racing to finish lines, rescuing those in need, and imagining great feats of heroism watching the lap counter on the treadmill. Pretty stupid, but running on a treadmill is so mind numbingly boring we have to do something besides think about what hurts, who we're mad at, or what's for dinner.

Some days when I'm not feeling quite right the only reason I can think to try and be as nice as possible is remembering that maybe, just maybe, you may need someone to save your life because, if I keep this up, I WILL have a heart attack. I've been on malfunctioning treadmills where the heart rate monitor keeps going off even though I'm not touching anything. I guess I've been warned.

So I renewed my CPR/AED training this past week. We were told to do the chest compressions to the beat of "Staying Alive." I think if you don't like the person you are trying to save "Another One Bites the Dust" would also do nicely. If I ever do get to be a real hero at the gym I think I'll leave my shuffle on so I can keep the pace up.

The Grand Poobah had his 92nd birthday this week. He really swims - and he's good! We are all in awe. He had some dizzy spells last year and I suggested that at least if he gets dizzy in the pool he won't fall down and break anything. He is all there and totally gets me. I like to make him laugh. The Poobah is a real hero - served as a fighter pilot in WWII. I am in awe. I've promised more than one pool buddy, including the Poobah, that I'd fish them out if they sank. Half the time the lifeguards are so spaced I'm pretty sure we're on our own in there.

Someone mentioned a long time back that if you are going to have a heart attack chances are you'll have it driving from the gym after your workout. Very encouraging. I hope one of my gym buddies is in traffic and saves me. I know I'd do it for them. I'd put my earbuds in and go to it. That's when I crank the volume to "Hysteria" and hope a real hero shows up soon.

Swimming Dreams

You know you spend too much time in the pool when your most recurring dreams are about swimming. It is SO COOL to realize you don't need air.

Sharing a lane with one other person is just okay, unless they are Mr. Splashy, Miss Middle of the Lane, or a Fat Boy. You split the lane down the middle and do your thing. Circle swimming is only JUST OKAY if those involved knows how it should work and are all about the same speed, which is almost never. In my dreams sometimes I'm in a lane with so many people that it's like spawning salmon.

One solution I got from dreamland is to split the lane by dividing the pool horizontally. Some swim on the top layer and the rest swim below on the bottom layer. I have to say I've had some strange looks when I've suggested this to others when it comes time to split a lane. Who needs air???

They (THEY) are planning on closing a downtown facility so now we've got Interlopers checking out our branch and the pool has been really busy and the lifeguards can't shut down lanes and sleep in the office. I dream about pools that are incredible - empty, flat and smooth, Bermuda blue and end at the horizon. Or I get frustrated dreaming that I'm swimming in muck and my short little legs and arms are working hard and I'm getting nowhere because the water feels like molasses. Did you ever swim on land? Now that's a swimming dream that is totally weird. Very weird.

Things change and all of us will have to deal with the place being more crowded. NOTE TO SELF: Elbows out, S.L.B.: this guy ain't gonna take 3/4 of the lane just because I'm skinny and getting old. In my dreams three strokes and I've sailed over the length of the pool to the other end. Way cool.

Dear John

If I'm not at the gym at my usual insane hour of the morning staff and other regulars will notice. "You're late today." It's 5:30 a.m. Pretty weird.

I'm in a bad mood and if anyone asks me "So how are you" and I actually tell them I know they'll quickly tune me out. Most folks don't REALLY wants to know if you are anything but FINE. So I shut up, which for me is not easy.

One day when I came in the lady at the front desk, Cookie, said, "Goooooooooood Morning" in this high, sweet sing song of a voice. I turned and looked at her dead in the eye and said really loud "AW JESUS CHRIST". We were laughing so hard we had it tough making kissie noises at each other as I escaped down the hall to the locker room.

Sometimes beating yourself up in a workout is the best part of the day. You don't want to talk to anyone. The ipod is on really loud, you avoid eye contact, and try to lose yourself in the workout. You're itching for a fight, but then all these really nice people will spark a conversation and try to make you laugh. God bless them. A couple of hours later, 15 minutes in the hot tub, and I'm almost nice.

There's a new book group at the gym that I've gotten in on that just read Nicholas Sparks' "Dear John". Here's my take: If you meet a boy with a buzz cut, scary tatoos, a bad temper, and no clue what to do with his life you should probably steer clear. I want to rename this stupid book "Dear John: Eat My Dust." He wasn't worth it. Were that I were so wise 25 years ago.

Wonder Woman met a guy that shared swimming workouts with her for a short while, then walked out on her. If he ever shows his face at the Y again me and the Cheater are going to beat him up. It would be nice to take out our mutual frustrations about men out on something besides a treadmill.

Thank you, everyone, for being so nice even when I'm crabby. Thank you, Cookie, for being so perceptive and noticing that just being 15 minutes late to the gym is a sign that all is not well. Thank you T.B.B. (Tall, Blonde and Beautiful) for caring enough to ask me how things are. Thank you EVERYONE for putting up with me. And Wonder Woman, I mean it, that guy has definitely been voted off the island.

What's in the bag???

Most of the ridiculously early gym crowd heads off to the stone quarry after our workout. We have to make money to pay for our Y membership. It's a vicious cycle.

When I was a Swimmer Only I arrived at the gym wearing swimsuit underwear but otherwise dressed for work. So my bag was regulation size with only the essentials - goggles/cap/fins/waterbottle, makeup, ditty bag and a towel. Oh yeah and underwear. I felt very European with my spartan carry on.

Until the day you show up and the pool is CLOSED (someone shit in the pool, probably). I would speed home mad at the whole world, which is mostly made up of me, eat a big breakfast and wish I had brought my sneakers so at least I could have walked the track. I guess I have to learn the hard way: I decided to pack sneakers, tee-shirt, sports bra, shorts, socks, peds. I had a backup plan! So the bag got a little bit bigger.

When I started varying my routine because my "friends" said I needed to do more "weight bearing" I arrived in my sweats with whatever I needed on underneath - a "dry" or a "wet" workout, whatever the plan was. I added a CD player (which eventually morphed into a Shuffle). Plus swim gear JUST IN CASE and gym gear JUST IN CASE.

The bag got a big bigger still.

Comes the day when your bathing cap splits open or your goggles just aren't there, you forget underwear or socks or a belt, you need a band-aid, a pen, a dollar for a bottle of water, damn two more ibuprofen, a hair dryer because the Y doesn't know how to buy in bulk, a safety pin, tampons, a new razor, lint brush, or pantyhose. Throw it in the bag.

Bigger bag.

Someone is always forgetting something. We dress in a hurry and it shows. No belt. No socks. No bra. No towel. There aren't too many women that can wear my bra (an "almost A") but we've bailed each other out a few times. One lady always "forgets" her bra. Yeah right. Sometimes we just have to go to work mismatched or just not happy about the outfit. Like anyone will notice.

Now I have TWO bags - one with my clothes/shoes and another with all my gear. I have an extra everything. Plus a snack. They were accepting book donations not long ago for a fund raiser and when I walked in with my box the lady at the desk asked me what I had and I just said "Damn, I spend so much time here I decided to just move in." She didn't even blink. She knows me.

The bags are as big as me almost and weigh more than I do, but now instead of being proud of my spartaness I try not to look like an idiot carrying all this stuff around. About 6 months ago on a weekend morning a man asked me "What's in the bag???". I looked at it and said "I have no idea. I can't wait to find out!"

Crazy Spinners

It's just before 5:00 a.m., pitch black, and the only other cars on the road are mostly folks who haven't been to bed yet. The rest don't know how to drive anyway. FYI stop signs and lights are optional.

I usually drive way too fast. I only slow down if the guy behind me is tailgating. I did that a few weeks ago, kept my speed at 45 m.p.h. and wondered why this jerk wouldn't back off. Good thing I didn't speed up or slam on my brakes. It was a cop.

I set my little car on Autopilot. It has three settings: Gym, Work, Home. Very helpful when you're half asleep - you can just turn the dial, hit the "Go" button and before you know it you're in the parking lot at the Y.

Late last fall I'm zipping down the last 1000 feet of my commute with my high beams on and spotted a raccoon on the side of the road, probably wanting to cross. I sloooooowed down, opened my passenger window and said to the little fella "Be careful, sweetie, and watch out for those crazy spinners - they'll run you down!"

The gym opens at 5:00 and the Crazy Spinners are there waiting (lined up like they all want a pound of baloney)to be sure they are signed up for NEXT week's class. Then they race down to the spinning room to claim their bike. Yes, THEIR bike. And don't be late for class or you will lose your bike to the Waiting List, which sucks unless the person that gets bumped is someone you don't like anyway. And call if you can't come or you are erased for an entire week of classes. Tough stuff. But the Crazy Spinners are a tough breed, a breed apart from most of the older exercisers that come at that hour.

No, I'm not a crazy spinner yet. I have MY parking spot and MY locker but I don't yet have claim to a bike. But you'll know when the change happens: I will conspire with others, like The Cheater, to be sure I am signed up even when I'm not there to sign up. I will pedal faster than any lowly mortal. And I'll be up to date on all the latest gossip, one of the best parts of taking classes.

Pool Rules

There are a surprising number of pool rules posted around the pool deck. I think it's gross that you have to tell people they can't pee, defecate or blow snot into the pool. I wonder why these rules aren't listed before the "be courteous" rule? Don't you think not shitting in the pool should be first???

No bandaids, no gum, no outside shoes, no food, no cut-offs. From what I can see of the crap floating around in the water no one really cares much about the rules, and there's only one person enforcing them: Evil Lifeguard. She power trips because she's a lifeguard. An indoor pool lifeguard. Maybe someone should explain that being an indoor (pasty fat) pool lifeguard is right up there with hall monitor in terms of status. This ain't Laguna Beach. Anyway, one minute she's telling you off and then she talks to you like she's your best friend. I have shunned her.

A sign that went up last year said that bathing suits had to be gender appropriate. I think if one of the boys wants to wear a nice colorful t-back ladies swim suit it should certainly be allowed. And if I wore a nice "spi-do" I'm not certain that anyone would notice (although they might on most of the other girls). I can't swim without goggles and a cap but I know I can swim without a suit. Well, except maybe for the scissor kick.

Do you think a drunk can read these signs any better than I can without my glasses before they go into the sauna to certain death???

So we may have lots of rules, but there are a few more that I'd like to suggest: No Leering. No touching. Stay on your side of the line.

Enough said. Suggestions welcome!

Next topic: CRAZY SPINNERS

Pool names

A pool name is given when the name is earned. Most aren't very flattering but they can be pretty funny.

Most of our regulars have a name, whether they know it or not. There's Backstroke Bob - a very large man who does laps for hours, all backstroke. And Sharin', whom I love dearly but she hates to share. She has all kinds of strategies for getting her own lane, like getting in with other people that she knows also hate to share. The skinny little white Irish guy with the pot belly who wears large swim fins - we call him Sea Monkey because he looks like the sea monkeys they used to advertise in comic books. Oooooh, and that really cute guy that started swimming about six months ago - Adonis. I don't care if he has ideas, or a job. I just like to look at him.

Some get labeled the very first time they walk in that door. Like the couple we called Club Med (I haven't seen them in a few years). All over tans, all over each other, dumber than a turnip. Or In the Mood Mahmoud, trying to pick up girls in the hot tub by telling them how great he was. And of course Grandma Slappy, about 100 years old, skinny, bent over, and crazy. Every time her arm came around for another freestyle stroke she's slap the water "WHACK". When we saw her coming we would pray that she wouldn't get in our lane.

One of my favorite characters is Lover Boy: fit as a fiddle and over sixty now. He is a terrible flirt. I like to splash him when he gets to the end of the lane. You think the pool water is cold? Check out the water we squirt out of our water bottles. He gave me my pool name: Skinny Little Bitch (S.L.B.). I guess it's better than being a fat little bitch.

I expect there will be more about pool names as this blog develops. I'm sure you can't wait to hear more about Jack Off Joe.

The Gym Junkie: Welcome to my world

I took swimming lessons when I was 23. I knew how to swim but I had no clue about how to do it well. I remember the first class. My legs were unshaven and purple from the cold. Sheesh - no towel big enough to hide those goosebumps. But I stuck to it and found I just loved swimming. For the past 26 years now I have organized my life around time for a workout. I am buff, albeit a bit creaky these days.

Where I live now I am a member of a wonderful facility that opens at 5:00 a.m. Typically I am up at 4:15, before the birds. Two ibuprofen and a cup of coffee later (oh, don't forget feeding the cat) I am out the door and off to the gym. 6 days a week. On the 7th day there is rest, except that the stupid cat still wants his breakfast at 4:15 so he positions himself at the top of the stairs, where he gets maximum echo and knows he is out of range of having a stuffed animal biffed at him, and yowls. So usually I get up anyway. I still have 2 ibuprofen and a cup of coffee. These days strictly decaf.

It used to be I just swam, day in and day out. I had sticky hair (everywhere), a signature scent of chlorine, and obvious goggle eyes for at least an hour afterwards. Very attactive, oui? This is still my favorite sport but after tendonitis in my left shoulder about 5 years ago, "friends" suggested "weight bearing" activities. So I began trying out other options: stability ball, pilates, step classes, lifting weights, elliptical machines, treadmill, spinning (well, you get the picture). I thought by this time in life I'd have found my inner child. Instead I found my inner core. Menapause is obviously the new adolescence. I turned into a gym junkie.

Over the years I've met some great people, quite a few weirdos, a few bitches, some hot guys, some old guys that zoom and others that are quite fabulous. We've shared laughs, told stories, crabbed about just about anything you can imagine,and gossiped incessantly - what a great bunch. In this blog I'm going to share with you some of my favorite adventures - I hope you enjoy!