The "Gym"

My niece recently had a baby and she is including "trips to the gym" in her diet and health regimen. She says she feels better already. I am so proud of her.

The last time I was in a gym, my sophomore P.E. teacher was blowing a whistle and telling us all to run a few laps and head to the showers.

There is something so alien about the "Gym". The bright lights and torturous looking machines are pretty scary. Like something you'd expect to see Vincent Price promote.

Heck, the full length mirrors are enough to make me turn around and run.

And, tell me, who was the egotistical designer that discovered Spandex? It's just not right.
That material should be reserved for only the tightest bodies- not be accepted as the universal "Gym" uniform. Believe me, no one wants to see an overweight grandma poured into a red Spandex jumpsuit rolling on a super ball- ready to go flat.

(But, on the other hand, neither do we want to see firm, tan, Michelangelo-statuesque figures slapping their firm, tan butts on the exercise bikes.)

Let me grunt and groan and stretch my jogging suit out in the privacy of my own home. Then if I feel like laying down like a dead horse afterward, no one will freak out and call the paramedics.

I do intend to eventually incorporate exercise into my daily journey. I know that is a healthy way to lose inches as well as sizes. And I have sworn not to buy any new clothes until I can justify paying for all that extra material that I won't even need in 200 days! Yeah, Baby!

If the"Gym" is your friend, then by all means, seek him out. Visit him daily. Embrace him. Desire him. Let him mold you into a goddess. I know I'll be jealous later, but who the hell cares?

I think I'll have a rice cake now and think about the future. I'll be thinner and happier and healthier then...

And I might even wear some Spandex.