I never used to be a gym rat, but now I find myself looking forward to working up a sweat with all the other sweaty rats. I think my new rodent status is a direct result of my piggy backing on my parents’ membership at the swanky gym in town. It’s SO nice! I tried out L.A. Fitness for a week, and that place was ghetto. You always had to wait for a cardio machine, and when you finally got one you couldn’t concentrate on burning calories because the other people waiting were burning holes in you with their eyes, trying to will you to get off before your allotted 20 minutes.
So anyway, now that I hang out at the gym a lot, I find myself wondering if I am occasionally a blatant offender of gym etiquette. I get downright paranoid about it. The other day in a “boot camp” group class, I had to move a guys’ weights and towel closer to his area because I had no room to do the steps our instructor was demonstrating. And as I did it, I thought, “Was that a fatal gym faux pas?” Was everyone around me thinking, “Who does she think she is?”
Crazy, I know. Or sometimes I hop off a cardio machine and am halfway across the gym before I realize I didn’t wipe down the handles. Or I forget to lay down my towel when I’m stretching on a mat after a run. Am I now the equivalent to the kid who shamelessly picked his nose in elementary school?
Honestly though, I’m sure that no one even notices or cares.
In other gym-related news, I have to do a bit of bragging. I went to the doctor the other day (haven’t been in forever), and found out that my blood pressure and pulse are stellar, and at “athlete level.” I am so proud of myself! It’s nice to know the hard work is paying off somehow, though sadly not in the coveted flat abs for which I have worked and prayed for years now!