Kitty Power

Born Every Minute

She wants to move
But you're hawking her
You're guarding her
Beat it!

For a while, I was satisfied getting my exercise dancing around the house, but I've grown slightly concerned lately about growing steadily rounder. I finally found motivation hidden in me somewhere and took myself to the gym yesterday. I had been kicking around the gym idea for a while. Get in shape was my unspoken resolution. I let the ridicule from Mac and Hani around Christmastime steer me towards going to a real gym. Yesterday, Candicissima met Bally's.

All the things I usually hate about the gym were there: gym rat grunting men, hyperthin obsessive women doing their hour on the treadmill in a leotard, bright ass lights, mirrors everywhere. But, I've got to admit I was somewhat heartened to see people who were semi-schlubby like me, dressed in baggy sweatpants and t-shirts, trying to build up the resolve to do this exercise thing for real.

I was there to activate my trial 30-day membership (expiring Valentine's Day, amusingly enough) bought a few weeks ago when I decided to surf something useful online for a change. I think the guy sensed my reluctance to jump into the mix, so he sent me to the membership lady. I know their MO: dangle a deal in front of your face, throw in things to sweeten the pot, and get you to sign your life (and money) away like a sucker. She won't get me. I know that game. She offered me a session with the trainer and I put my poker face on before heading off to change.

The trainer, A, reminded me of my technical first boyfriend, Tin, a young Park Sloper who rode on my bus and decided he was crazy about me in 7th grade. Back then, I was less "boys have cooties" than "boys are weak. I can so kick your ass...and dunk on you in basketball." He followed me around like a puppy and I hated the fawning (some things never change) and I broke it off after a week in a letter in his locker. The last time I had to be a heartbreaker for about 8 or 9 years. It was so immature and cute in retrospect. Anyways, the trainer got a point because people that remind me of good old friends always get an instant point from me. He came across as all nice and trying to be my friend, but he was secretly evil. It was obvious that I was highly ambivalent about the whole gym thing and he decided that he was gonna whip me into shape right then because I had to "do something drastic in order to be fit" or some fitnessy garbage. 120 jumping jacks, about 80 squats, 60 assorted crunches, a hamstring stretch that I was sure would lead to my poor leg just popping off = a tired Candicissima who felt like jello. And then he tried to schedule me for a diagnostic session for Saturday at 1pm. Dude...I'm rarely awake at 1pm on a Saturday and then to have to be in Manhattan at that time? Crack pipe at the table for 1. We rescheduled that for 4. And then he set me off to do the elliptical. I gave it a good ten minutes and figured I'd give it a rest if I wanted to walk the rest of the day.

Then I was off back to the membership lady, nodding off as she ran around. Somehow she convinced me to sign up for a 3-year membership instead of doing the 30-day thing. And threw in a free CD! and a Bally's package for $35! I hate the fucking gym. I'm doing this for Florida. And I'll cancel on February 27th before they start charging me.

Posted by Candicissima at January 30, 2004 04:50 PM