I remember a time in my life when I actually scoffed at the people who told me I wouldn't be thin forever. That one day I would have a metabolism that could actually slow down to the point of non-existence.
I am now a believer.
A sweet young friend had this quote taped to the back of her apartment door ~
"Your habits have earned you the body you have now."
Ten words that sum up the result of scoffing when you are too young to know any better.
I have decided, once again, to attempt at ridding my body of the results of all my bad habits in the hope that it will reward me with the ability to put away the elastic waistband pants. I want to put on my jeans and button them without fear that the pressure behind the button will cause the closure to give way and damage a fellow human being or the glass coffee mug I have in front of me.
So I, like countless others, joined a gym. Tada! I just know this time will be different. I won't just be sending these folks a monthly fee to keep their doors open and their machines tuned. I will visit this establishment and use the facilities I am paying for.
But there is one problem.
You may wonder...your head? It's your belly and butt that are your real problem!
Let me explain....
I have to first develop the mindset that getting out of a warm bed and into a cold car are worth the trip to a facility that is designed to make me hurt before I see results.
I have to convince myself that not everyone is looking at the middle aged woman who is trying to develop a new habit by working out on machines that are eerily similar to equipment designed to torture.
I know I am not so breathtaking that everyone in the gym is watching my every move.
But it feels like it.
And then I have to stop my brain from taking in all the woman around me. In particular, the ones who are wearing gym apparel and who look like they came to work out. But I question their sincerity when they have more make up on than I wear when I go out on a date.
In fact, their hair isn't even frizzy from sweating for an hour.
In fact, they are smiling.
In fact, they aren't sweating.
Did they even work out?
My whole thought process spirals downward as I stand atop the elliptical, sweating, frizzing and wondering why the bobby pins to hold my bangs back aren't working and wonder how these beautiful, thin women are allowed to register at this gym to begin with. I want someone like them to wear a shirt that has a before picture on it so I can be encouraged. I want proof that they have been required to work out hard. Proof that they have sweat. Proof that their now flat bellies once had the shape of a loaf of raisin bread with just the right amount of cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top.
Proof....it isn't asking to much is it?
But that would require a shirt that is big enough to have a picture on it....of a chubby, middle aged lady.
Because you can't fit that picture on a sport bra.
Maybe one day I will be a smiling, flat bellied, non frizzy headed woman who can stride through the gym like all the weights know her touch and all the treadmills wait for her to take a run on them.
Until then, I will pin my hair back with bobby pins....put on my least revealing workout clothes....and remember to pee before I step into the workout arena.
Because their is nothing more embarrassing than a middle aged woman in the middle of an intense workout on the elliptical to attempt to get off and run for the ladies room.
I know....trust me.