Morning Pages - Week 2 Day 6

December 30th

I've got one word for you: gym. Completely screwed  me over. I am pretty sure that the minute I set foot out the door of my gym, I am unhealthier than the minute I came in with the sole purpose of being healthy. Every time I go there -which is not very rarely- I blow my brains out exercising. Take yesterday for instance. The minute I walked in, my favorite receptionist welcomed me with a giant smile on her face and asked me "Are you here for the pilates class?" A) how can anyone say no to that smile and B) she is my favorite receptionist. She is the one I turned small talk into big conversations about hobbies and hubbies and rent in New York. You know! I might break my legs and tear up my muscles in that class but I will not say no to her. So I say "Of course! What else?" 

It's OK tough. I already I know what I'm getting myself into. It's a class with room full of Jewish New Yorker women aged anywhere from 50 to 80, whom are all wonderful girls but let's face it; I'm practically a shining star in that class. Every time I do pilates with my oldies but goldies, I feel like Kate from Lost at the end of season 1. No joke. I mean what is better than feeling like a champion at 7pm on a Sunday when the next best thing you're going to have to do is go to work on Monday?..You need some Eye of the Tiger spirit in you. I know I do and that's probably the reason why rocking my pilates class wasn't enough of a victory for me. For once in my life, I wish I felt like I've achieved enough. I'm headed to treadmills. What is wrong with me? Somebody help me. 

Here's the situation at the treadmill area. There are 12 of them side by side and I get on the one in the middle, followed by a nice looking gentleman getting on the one to my right 1 minute later and cute little college girl, whom I am sure is in a sorority and says "Oh my God" 57 times a day, climbs onto the one to my left 2 minutes after the guy to my right. Here we are running right next to each other with 9 other free treadmills surrounding us. I get the feeling I'm in the middle of something I didn't ask to be a part of but was chosen to moderate.

It's like by minute 7 I am supposed to say "How's it going?" to the girl followed by a wink to the guy and by minute 10, I should get down to business with the tackiest wing man (woman in my case of course) line ever. Something like, "Hey! Have you met my friend Joe over here? He likes running" to which the girl will obviously say "Oh my God, me too!" And then, I will go "Oh yeah? Man what a coincidence! Come on Joe, don't be shy! Say hi." Joe goes "Hi" like a cool man. Oh my he's so cool that the only thing our tiny girl with tiny shorts can reply with is "Hey!", all the while running of course. By minute 22 I should still be running and they should leave the gym hand in hand like characters from one of those extremely boring and unrealistic gym love stories. Luckily, this is real life and my life is not boring, yet.

I am not a matchmaker in the actual version of this story but I do make the girl bored out of her mind with my extremely focused running.Yes little girl, I am actually on that treadmill to run. Not to watch TV like you did for 5 minutes before you even started or to text my "Oh my God gang" while I'm taking a stroll at 0.5 speed level on the machine (I know you gym freaks out there know what speed levels I'm talking about) So after 6 minutes of effortless jogging, college girl to my left leaves. The guy to my right however is a persistent runner. Good thing I didn't hook them up. Hell, I might have even prevented another divorce from happening! Double fist pump. I am kicking ass today. Speaking of which, my ass starts to hurt because I've been running for 20 minutes now. Like I said, what is my problem!? 

It seems like the more I run in my own focused way, the more competitive -agitated even- my running neighbor seems to get. He is constantly increasing his speed and the faster he runs, redder his face gets. I for one, am not in the mood for giving heart attacks to strangers. By the time his face gets purple, I decide to put an end to this. I've had enough running and enough drama for a casual Sunday night. What does he do then? The minute I switch to cool down mode, he stops running. I always knew there was an unspoken connection established between people who run side by side but what the hell?! He will just stop as soon as I'm done and walk out on me and our silent running pact? First the college girl and now the psycho runner? Long day at the gym, long day.

Back at home, it takes me only 2 minutes to crash into the couch in our living room, pretending to watch our favorite show, Bob's Burgers with my husband while in fact going into my second level rem sleep. He of course finishes the show, remembers all the good jokes of the episode to tell me next morning, turns off the lights, locks the door and makes sure I am buried neck deep under covers. His level of affection is directly proportional to his efforts of covering every inch of my body with blankets. So I am in fact, very happy to be roasted by him in my sleep.

It takes me 10 hours and 2 cups of coffee to finally figure out why I've been singing a specific song the next day:
Qu'est Que C'est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away

After all, I can't deny that I have a gym connection with a certain Jewish pilates mafia and purple-face runners. I love my gym! In fact, I probably love any gym anywhere, minus the exercise part.