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Why I Don’t Belong To A Gym

Let me tell you a story. Call it a detour into sheer insanity. Call it a weak moment. Call it pure dumb ass stupidity. Whatever you want to call it, let me tell you about the time I let my better judgement fly out the window and I accepted an invitation. An invitation to what, you may ask?

An invitation to The Seventh Circle of Hell.

One of the nice new mom’s that I met in our neighborhood invited me. At least I thought she was nice. Turns out she’s really a sadistic bitch in cute shoes who lives to torture unsuspecting fools. In my defense, she called early in the morning before I had my required infusion of caffeine needed for making coherent decisions. Before I knew what had happened, I had agreed to join the New Mommy’s Get Fit Club.

What the hell is that?

Apparently a local gym agreed to provide memberships to the Get Fit Club for free in return for some advertising. The only catch is that The Club must have at least 15 members and they must work out together at least once a week. So the president of The Stupid Suckers Club was recruiting idiots members to join her in the weekly torture. Heaven help me, I agreed. Moments after I got off the phone, I was horrified at what I had done. So I called Jenna and conned her into joining us. Well I didn’t really con her, I threatened to chop off her ponytail and completely remove her eyebrows while she slept if she didn’t come with me. Hey, she still owes me for the early morning yard sale marathon. Terrified at the thought of short boy cut hair and no eyebrows, she reluctantly decided to join me. Now I should mention that I abhor exercise. I. Hate. It. I played soccer for so many years that I figure I did enough exercise for a lifetime already. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years and the only way you’ll see me running is if someone is chasing me. With a car.

So the morning of torture arrives and I reluctantly drag my ass out of bed and pick up Jenna on the way cause I knew she’d never show up if left on her own. I wish I had a picture of the get-up Jenna came out of the house wearing. Black stretch leggings under a huge white t-shirt proclaiming Life’s a Bitch, hot pink legwarmers with white skulls, her orange Nike’s and her hair pulled up into a ponytail with a huge scrunchie. Helloooo 1985! I’m pretty sure she was making a statement. Or maybe she thought I would be embarrassed to be seen with her in that outfit. Ha! Nothing embarrasses me, I have kids.

I laughed all the way to the gym in my black yoga suit and staid white Sketchers. The other members of The
Get Fit Club were already there and had already decided on a plan of action for the first day. Spinning. Jenna and I shared a look of horror. She tried to weasel out of it by claiming she had cramps but changed her mind when I renewed my boy hair and no eyebrows threat. You should have seen us as we were led into the spinning class. We looked like death row inmates heading to the gas chamber. Shuffling, trying to walk as slowly as possible, dreading what was coming next. We purposefully chose to be in the back of the room, as far away from the instructor as possible.

I knew immediately that this was not a class I was going to enjoy. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I would survive this class. Jenna and I were directly behind two of the skinniest bitches present. You know the type- hair perfectly highlighted and styled, tanned, doesn’t need any make up, not an ounce of fat anywhere….I. Hate. Them. They spinned their little hearts out while Jenna and I just tried not to die. I don’t even think those bitches were sweating. Meanwhile, Jenna and I looked like we were being drenched with rain from that black cloud of doom that follows us around. The class was 45 minutes long. 45 minutes of hell. 45 minutes of praying not to fall sideways off that bike into a heap on the floor.

Finally it was over. We survived…..barely. The skinny bitches hopped off their bikes and sauntered to the locker room, patting their brow for nonexistent sweat beads. Jenna and I huffed and puffed, bent over double, leaning on each other for support as we staggered towards the door. It took us awhile to make it to the locker room, what with having to stop so we could wheeze in another breath every few feet. We eventually made it to the locker room where we collapsed onto the benches as the skinny bitches paraded around in their cute little thong panties. Did I mention that I. Hate. Them.

Jenna and I recuperated on the benches for a good half an hour before we could muster up enough energy to stand up. Unfortunately we underestimated the side effects of 45 minutes of spinning class on out of shape leg muscles. Have you ever seen a newborn foal try to walk on wobbly, uncoordinated legs? That was us as we staggered around, legs muscles shaking and knees buckling with every step. Finally we accepted that neither one of us was going to be able to drive home and Jenna called her husband to come get us. Mr. Jenna arrived within a few minutes and helped us both out to the car, shaking his head all the way. He’s very used to the bizarre situations we seem to find ourselves in more often than not and he rarely says a word anymore. We lay in the backseat, moaning and groaning and cursing the sadistic bastard who invented Spinning class while Mr. Jenna drove, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter.

And on the way home we made him take us through the drive thru at Krispy Kreme. We earned a donut this morning!