New gym obsession

For some odd reason, at the ripe old age of 38, I decided that I needed to get into shape. The flab and cottage cheese finally got to me… plus I bet a guy at work that I could beat him arm wrestling. Anywhooo… I have been working out since March, and I have finally discovered that if I move my boobs up, there ARE abs underneath and they are starting to creep out of the fleshing mass of stretch marks. Unfortunately no amount of working out is going to get rid of the scars of child birth. Now that… the joys of birth and the scars you carry with you is a whole different blog subject. All I’ll say is that I better get my mommy makeover for my 40th birthday. Boobs put back where they started 25 years ago and tummy tucked.

Going to the gym has been quite interesting. I of course had to have gym fashion and have sports bra tanks, running shorts, running shoes, etc. Finding supportive tanks was interesting… but I finally found some that sufficiently leash them up so I can exercise. I was feeling pretty good about them actually… I have a favorite that I wear whenever it’s clean. And I thought it must look good on me because people looked at me when I wore it. Figured out why the other day when I moved did a few exercises near the mirror… you can completely see my nipples thru it… and even more so after I’ve sweated a bit.

Exercising itself requires some coordination and skill when you are using these machines. I was intimidated for a long time and have slowly worked my way around to most of them. I’m hoping that I’ve figured out the right way to use them. One thing I hate though is the sit up board. I got tired doing crunches the other day and I couldn’t get my feet unhooked correctly and fell off of it.

I totally dig our treadmills, ellipticals and cross trainers. They have TV’s on them. I usually don’t actually listen, but I watch and it clears the mind. Add the IPOD and the lack of ability for anyone to contact you for at least 30 minutes and that’s pretty much my idea of heaven. I can completely forget that the skinny bitch next to me is jogging an 8 minute mile on the treadmill in her size 2 running shorts and tank top that doesn’t show her nipples (She doesn’t have boobs anyway, so that is some consolation.), while I’m celebrating the first time I run ½ a mile all at one time and don’t collapse, slip on the treadmill and shoot across the gym floor into another machine that makes my legs sore.

Luckily most of the people there are older adults that are just as out of shape as I am… and several that are fatter than me. Sorry for them… but happy for me. A few of them I just want to smack though. How does getting on the exercise bike and pedaling the minimum speed while texting on the phone for 30 minutes count as a workout? Why don’t you just pull thru the donut shop next door on your way out? Yeah, there’s a donut place in the next parking lot. If you work out in the morning you can smell them. It’s wrong on so many different levels.
But I’m not giving up! I’m going to keep plugging along… I’ve become addicted to the stress relief. If I could just figure out a way to work on that treadmill… life would be perfect.