My life as a gym member: so far, so good

We're about one week into my "new year, new me" plan (full disclosure: there is no such plan), and Patrick and I have successfully gone to the gym together about four times. I say "about" for two reasons:

1. I've gone without him once or twice (you can see that most things are going to be vague here, can't you)
2. Last night we attempted to go, saw the line of people awaiting treadmills, and hightailed it out of there

We seem to be having fun, though. The first night we both forgot our iPods, and so instead I spent most of the time we were on the treadmills keeping a discreet eye on him, to make sure the guy didn't keel over or something. He surprised me by running (he used to be a runner, before we got married), and because he's a man, I'm sure he'll have good results way before I do. I also foresee the re-emergence of Super Calves, Patrick's claim to fame as a double bass drum playing dynamo (I almost typed "domino" instead of "dynamo" and spent a few seconds trying to figure out why that sounded wrong; also, I like saying "double bass drum playing dynamo;" also, I had to take a few moments and erase Van Morrison's song "Domino" from my brainwaves); I probably won't have anything that dramatic happen, and that's okay by me.

It's all less intimidating than I had gotten myself worked up about - sure, there are plenty of skinny minis there, in their low-rise, tight-ass exercise pants and double tank tops, but there are also people who look like me (or, if you can believe it, worse). There are also people who look like me (or worse) who could kick my butt, so: I will attempt to be nice. I did watch this one woman the other night on the treadmill in front of me - she was petite and cute, and then when she finished and was gathering up her things, she put on, over her workout clothes, a jacket that looked like it was made from Cookie Monster pelt. Somebody explain to me where, exactly, you can purchase Sesame Street creature fur coats for grownups, because - wow.

Someone at work, when I told her how busy the place was last night, reminded me that I'm probably not alone in starting this gym business in January - that as the months pass, the number of people wanting to work out and improve their bodies will dwindle down. I hope I'm not one of those people, because I would really like to be able to wear my smaller pants again.

We're still just sticking to the treadmills, but on Sunday I decided to try one of the pre-programmed courses. It was fun, and easier than I expected. The funny thing was, both my shoes came untied at about 10 minutes into the routine, and I didn't want to stop to tie them, so for about 25 minutes I walked on the treadmill with both sets of shoelaces flapping around my ankles. I'm pretty sure I have red marks still from those sharp plastic tips.

Other than the gym, and my vacation officially ending (back to work for me, yesterday - readjusting to getting up at 5 a.m. and then working for 10 hours has been painful), there hasn't been much going on. Some mail for the teenage kid across the street was mis-delivered to our house, and we discovered that that kid's name is actually "Keefe" and not, as we have thought for the last 8 years, "Keith." All this time I thought his mother had a speech impediment. What kind of name is "Keefe," anyway?

And, finally, to wrap up the news of the small, last night I ate something that didn't agree with me, and so I've been back and forth to the restroom quite a bit today. And I would just like to point out that while I try as hard as I can to be conscientious to my co-workers, if you don't want to hear or smell anything unpleasant while using the public restroom, you might want to consider, I don't know, a bucket or something, because look, it's just a fact of life (also, while the first floor bathrooms have been remodeled and have those fancy sensors to automatically flush when they think you're finished, this doesn't allow for the "courtesy flush." I usually prefer the first floor restroom because they're new, bigger [and thus, emptier] and further away and I get a bit of a walk [two birds with one stone!] But due to the urgency with which I have been called to the restroom today, it's just not logical. Also, I think the "courtesy flush" must waste a lot of water). So, if you don't like dead people, stay out of the morgue. It's just common sense, people. I have no other advice or comments on this isse, but I feel justified in telling this story because earlier this morning my co-worker was telling me about her small daughter who has a cold, and about how her daughter would rather snort her snot back up than use a tissue. This was a detail that my very nice co-worker felt that the story needed. Maybe so I wouldn't suspect that she was making up her "daughter" and subsequent stories of her satisfactory home life, I don't know. I decided that instead of telling just her a disgusting story, that I would share it with you all as well. Spreading the wealth, that's me: doing my part for the Democratic party.

I do know that there's nothing better than a small child's runny nose to make me feel like maybe I should reconsider becoming a mother someday.