Category Archives: Health Stuff

5 Reasons Why I Like My Gym

FullSizeRender (4)This morning, I was really excited because I saw “an” ab. That’s right, one abdominal muscle. Much less a “six-pack”, much more a “single” hiding beneath a paper bag. All the same, it is an ab.

Naturally, I took copious photos and texted them to friends and then ate a tub of ice cream to congratulate myself on the debut of my super hot ab. All that got me thinkin’. Turns out, I really love my gym. Here are 5 reasons why:

  1. I really, really, so much like making the owner of my gym uncomfortable. It is one of my very favorite things to do. Is that “nice”? Not really. But I pay him and I feel that makes it somewhat justifiable. He is an excellent candidate for my amusement because he has that slight social awkwardness mixed with the “when I drink, I’m hilarious” vibe. It’s the perfect combination – I know he can take it, but I also know that in day-to-day life, he doesn’t have the appropriately quick responses to my sarcasm. Thus, he is reduced to nervous laughter and awkward eye contact. Fidgety hands are a bonus!
  2. When I waltz in carrying a huge Sonic Iced Tea – unsweetened, thank you very much – no one judges me because it’s not water. At least not openly. (They judge me on why I’m waltzing instead of walking. Who am I, Ginger Rogers?) For all they know, it’s purified water from an enchanted forest that I harvested from the tears of fairies. And I’ve had more than one person nod approvingly when they noticed the absence of my flask, so…
  3. The people are really friendly. Need a spotter? Wanna talk protein? Need me to look the other way while you make muscles in the mirror and take selfies? You got it. No one assumes the machines are free or that you aren’t about to use that set of dumbbells. We all do the thing where you gesture the universal version of gym sign language while simultaneously mouthing, “Are you using that?” It’s gym etiquette because no one can hear shit with their headphones on and it’s really fun to pretend we’re all a bunch of drunken Italians, frantically waving our arms in the air. Ok, one of us actually is a drunken Italian (hand goes up), but the analogy still applies.
  4. The machines and equipment aren’t so high-tech that I have to take a two-week training on how to properly begin using them without looking like an asshole. I prefer to save those moments for when I drop a weight on my toe or fall off the elliptical.
  5. If you take an aesthetic average of all members, it would come out to be, well, average. Some members are above average specimens of sex appeal and some slightly more “beautiful on the inside”. This creates a harmonious balance of solid Grade B looks. Why does this matter? I’m supposed to say that it doesn’t. But if you pretend that working out next to a bunch of Housewives of Some City or Channing Tatum isn’t intimidating as hell, well then, you’re a liar and your pants are on fire. If your gym is filled with babes of either gender, you’re gonna feel bad about yourself and you’re not gonna come back. I pulled the pin; truth bomb just exploded.

 

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P.S. It’s also a stones throw from my house, very clean and relatively affordable, but none of that is funny so…

P.P.S. Number of alcohol references in this post: 5, Number of times I seem like a meanie: 0 (Ok, I know #1 & #5 make me seem a bit like a wench.)

P.P.P.S (?) I’m not an alcoholic or a meanie. And I have a single, so watch what you say about me.

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Gym Attire and Why Yours is Wrong

I have a lot of thoughts about the gym. Actually, I would say that if I’m being honest, my judgments thoughts are geared more towards the gym-goers. I have thoughts on the guttural noises they make. I have thoughts on their training methodology. I have thoughts on their hygiene or more often, lack thereof. Right now, though, I would like to focus solely on gym-goers and their choices of attire.

Seeing as I joined a gym four (4) whole months ago, my tenure obviously makes me amply qualified to judge comment on this realm of fashion. For the remainder of this post, the gym-goer shall be referred to as GG. Here are some of the main offenders in no particular order:

  • The GG that wears a shirt to the gym that has another gym’s logo on it. This is the equivalent of wearing a Harvard sweatshirt while attending classes at Yale. Someone’s definitely going to give you a swirly.
  • The GG that weight-trains in huge neon yellow, zebra-striped harem pants. I do not understand the function of these. I do not understand their ostentatious pattern. I do not understand where you even purchase such atrocities.

  • The GG that barely wears anything at all. Pssst… I can see your hooters and/or your Netherworld and I didn’t ask to. If you are this GG and you are male, nobody (and I mean nobody) of either gender takes notice of you in a flattering way. If anyone is looking at you, it is most likely that they are waiting for the right time to snap an Instagram and plaster it all over social media with a caption that reads, “I can see this guy’s junk and it ain’t pretty.”

    If you are this GG and you are female, (wo)men may come on to you but they are most likely married and going through a mid-life crisis or a minor and going through puberty. Other normally-clad women will find ways to inauspiciously throw metal-tipped darts at your boobies in hopes of popping the silicone. And yes, every woman carries metal-tipped darts to the gym. They are right next to the deodorant in our gym bags.

  • The GG that wears yoga attire even when they aren’t taking a yoga class. We get it. You shop at Whole Foods. You are flexible and make love not war. You can stand on one foot for inordinately long periods of time while breathing deeply. But can you lift this dumbbell that I’m about to throw at your head? Can you do the elliptical to the beat of any Chris Brown song without falling off? Put that in your downward dog and smoke it.
  • The GG that wears new, coordinating designer brand ensembles. This tells the world that you spend more time shopping for your gym clothes than you do actually going to the gym. And that tells the world that you are spoiled. And that makes the world not like you. Come to think of it, you look awfully familiar… And I could swear I’ve seen your vagina getting out of a car before… Paris Hilton, what are you doing at my gym?

Some additional words of advice on the topic:

  • You do not need to wear a fanny pack.
  • You do not need to wear a belt that has holsters for water bottles.
  • You do not need to wear a visor indoors.
  • You do not need to wear leg warmers.
  • You do not need to wear a sports bra if you are a man.

Now if I’m missing anything feel free to comment and let me know. Additionally, if you are one of the aforementioned offending GG’s and you genuinely seek counsel on the proper attire, also feel free to comment and I will guide you in the direction of being completely inconspicuous at the gym. As always,

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Princess Num-Num

I wanted a little snack just now. My belly said, “Make it good.” My belly can be so demanding. I went downstairs and threw a few ingredients in my Vitamix and in 45 seconds, I had homemade hummus that made grocery store brands want to throw themselves down the disposal. (This was amazing, considering the ingredients consisted of a crayon, celery and two mints from my purse.)

(Insert screeching tire sound…) Back it up. A few months back, a crappy, dumpy feeling me turned to a friend/personal trainer to help me better understand exercise, food, health – all things that confuse me. Other things that confuse me include Cody Simpson, plastic blow-up decorations and Rubik’s cubes.

My friend made me read a book. I liked the book. It promoted Vitamix blenders. I was all, “What’s that?” Amazon told me I needed one. I take Amazon very seriously. I happened upon a Vitamix demo while perusing Whole Foods. It confirmed; I needed one. Begging, pleading, saving, researching, bribing all ensued around me getting a Vitamix.

Recently, I got a Vitamix. Her name is Princess Num-Num and she is so beautiful.  I use her to make food. Then, I clean her and hug her and tell her I’ll see her again soon.

Princess Num-Num's first ride

Princess Num-Num’s first ride

She is not just a blender, so those of you that say that (Dad and husband, Jon) are seriously mistaken. She makes frozen desserts, hot soups (with only friction), smoothies, sauces, dressings, and so much more. She is a blender, food processor and happiness-infusion machine. Whatever ingredients I throw in her, I can almost hear her say, “Bitch, I got this,” which is exactly the kind of thing a regular Target blender will not say.

Long story, short… Princess Num-Num gives me yum-yum for my tum-tum. I’m 33 years old.

 

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