It was raining at the buttcrack of (non)dawn (because does it really count as dawn when the sun isn’t out?) Wednesday as I drove to the gym for Body Pump. I guessed it was probably a good thing I didn’t decide to get into running.
I upped my weights that day, and I definitely felt it in my arms, legs, and ass. Hurts so good!
I didn’t get stuck with the handicapped shower, but the shower I did get had its own problems. Someone had jerry rigged the shower head with what looked like the mouth of a garden hose and perhaps a twist tie. Everything was fine for the first few seconds after I turned on the water, but then something shifted, and suddenly water was shooting out the side of the pipe. I reacted audibly (but no swears), I’m sure to the amusement of whomever was in the neighboring shower. I tried to correct whatever the fuck had gone awry, but it was useless, so I proceeded with my shower.
I took this picture after I got dressed, and whomever had showered while I was getting dressed had somehow jerry rigged the jerry rig, so the effect isn’t as dramatic here as it was for me. Also, I keep saying “jerry rig,” and I have the vague sense that’s somehow an offensive expression. I hope not. Cursory Googling does not reveal why it would be. Forgive if I’m wrong! Anyway, imagine it just like this, but instead of a trickle pouring out the side, a geyser is shooting horizontally out the side.
After I was dressed, I went to advise someone on the staff of the shower problem. I’d talked the previous day about the handicapped stall with the woman at the front desk. She’s very fit and always quite made up, and she has a very strong resting bitch face. When I told her about the handicapped stall on Tuesday, she gave me a bitchy yet concerned look and thanked me for letting her know.
She was at the desk Wednesday as well, as was Warren (of Lean Muscle with Warren fame) and some dude I didn’t recognize. I said, “Hey, just wanted to let you know the middle shower stall has a problem, too.”
The man I didn’t recognize said, “Leaking?”
As I started to open my mouth to reply, Resting Bitch Face said, “It doesn’t have a problem. I just used it.”
Um? My hair was still wet. Hers was coiffed and stiff with product. However it may have been working when she “just” used it, it wasn’t working that way anymore.
But whatever. Resting Bitch Face led the other guy away and told him she’d show him what she was talking about, and I muttered “okay” to Warren and remembered that judgey gym bitches are one of the reasons I didn’t want to join the gym.
The good news is that most of the ladies at my gym aren’t bitches. At least, not the ladies I interact with. Sweet Candy is sweet; Alyssa is awesome; the regular attendees seem friendly yet focused. I’ve never seen Resting Bitch Face do anything but stand behind the counter, so it’s likely there will be few reasons to interact with her.
And who knows. Maybe RBF is a perfectly sweet young lady. A resting bitch face is not always telling of a person’s true bitchiness.
I’m amused by the little things like jacked-up shower heads that reveal a certain… thriftiness in the management of the gym. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a nice gym. They want you to know it, so there’s a window fountain you see as soon as you walk in the door, and a smoothie bar to the side. The locker rooms have saunas. The back area with the treadmills and ellipticals has signage labeling it “cardio cinema.” Each of those machines has a little TV you can watch, and you can listen if you have headphones.
But then you have shower heads held together with twist ties or hair elastics, which likely won’t be replaced any time soon. And, really, I support mechanical ingenuity. It just seems out of line with the facade that Resting Bitch Face herself represents standing at the front desk.
So that was Wednesday. Thursday, parental duties prevented me from making it to 6 am RIPPED, and I wound up squandering some of the time I had to work out in the circuit room by chit chatting with a friend. I got in two circuits, then had to shower–in the good stall, yay!–even though I didn’t get all that sweaty, because I didn’t shower before I got there. Am I supposed to say that? I’m a morning showerer, but I’m sure not showering BEFORE I go to the fucking gym. That would be pointless.
Even though Thursday was a pretty light workout, I decided to allow myself to take Friday off. It’s not like the first week when I needed a day off because I was hurting so much. It’s more that I was trying to decide when to go and what to try to do, and it started to feel like too much pressure. So I said, fuck that. I went to the fucking gym Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, AND Thursday, and even if that ends up being all I do this week, that is FOUR DAYS. Four days is really fucking good, if you ask me. Ain’t nobody got time for guilt.
I’ll probably go some time this weekend. We’ll see. I have other important things to do. Like get my hair cut and get my nails did.
Gym Week Three, Days Three and Four
- Favorite part: pumping up my body, til I become sexy. Sing it with me now!
- Least favorite part: RBF