Tuesday, February 24, 2009

gonna make you sweat

Since n.o.c. and I have made gym-going a priority, I thought I'd share a bit about my exercise regimen.

First off, I think you should know that my gym locker room always smells of babies and formaldehyde, like some macabre perfume made from the fetal pigs I dissected in high school, a hint of powder, and a touch of something spicy, like cinnamon. And yet I still go, because I am dedicated.

The locker room has several mirrored walls, and since we don't have a full-length mirror in our apartment, I often begin my time in said locker room with an inspection of the day's outfit. Note: it is a terrible f*cking idea to inspect an outfit after you have spent the whole f*cking day wearing it. For example, today I wore a pair of pants that I thought were serviceable, if not exactly chic. According to the mirror, however, the fabric sags in the ass and billows oddly around my thighs, so it looks like I'm wearing a filled diaper beneath an ugly pair of jodhpurs. This makes me very sad, since the only thing I strive for professionally is to have a coveted wardrobe.

I spend much of my gym time avoiding people. I am horrified at the thought of encountering one of my students while I'm in a state of dishabille, so I generally try to put on my workout attire without getting undressed. This often begins with my shoe-shod foot becoming tangled in my workout pants and ends with my arm trapped inside my sports bra. Occasionally a tumble is involved.

I also avoid other teachers. I once made the mistake of speaking to a colleague of mine (who is bat-shit crazy) while she was lolling along on a stationary bicycle, and now she stares scarily at me from beneath her electric blue eyelids and sparse, mascara-caked lashes and asks if I'll be at our place later. For some reason, she feels compelled to keep her "exercise" habit a secret, so she usually asks me this through clenched teeth in the manner of some inept secret agent.

But I digress. After exiting the locker room, I search for celebrity gossip magazines, since I can imagine no worse fate than an hour with only my thoughts to entertain me. Magazines procured, I choose a treadmill, avoiding those sandwiched between stinky people, fit people, or people who grunt unnecessarily while running.

Then I run. I flip through my magazines. I think about dinner. I think about having a cocktail. I think about how, according to some very unflattering photos, I appear to be thinner than Jessica Simpson; I think about this because I am shallow and an ass. Then I think about how happy Paula Deen looks and wonder if I should just step off the treadmill, eat some delicious deep-fried butter, and call it a f*cking day.

I'll let you know.


ellie bee said...

Don't you be getting too thin! Since I have become a workaholic slug I have gained 5 pounds, look like a cow, and have tons of clothes I can no longer wear...send me a size and I will send you some stuff from Chez Liz...

OliverDarrow said...

the gym sounds like an unbearable mangler. how do you do it?

Anonymous said...

You should put down those magazines and *observe.* I promise you, the time will fly (says the boy who has slowed down his treadmill routine in recent days so as to not fall off while trying to finish The Golden Compass, but whatever).

jennie said...

This post makes me laugh, hard. So funny, love it.

keri said...

Thanks, Jennie. That's always great to hear.

Sarah said...

I have no recollection of how I found your blog but I love it. You keep it real, realer than me. I'm afraid to even write about my current job! I'd be found out by morning! What if the bat-shit crazy teacher blogs!

keri said...

Hi Sarah -

So glad you like it; your blog is beautiful - I'm a font junkie.

The risk of discovery is palpable, but it almost makes blogging more fun. I feel like a true subversive when I'm typing unflattering things about my colleagues while they're sitting just a cube or two away. It's the little things, clearly, that make things bearable.