on working out

I've always been a bigger boned, bigger muscled (or flabbed) girl, but there once was a time that I was in good shape. In college, I was too focused on the busy work required of the education major and my over-committment to this thing I can never get away from, InterVarsity (despite the way that sounds, I actually love IV). After I graduated and moved to this great city, I joined the thousands of locals at the gym, and I worked out pretty consistently. My membership ended when my full time teaching position left my life, or..er..I maybe left it. The last six months, I have battled with my own home remedies for getting fit - walking my neighborhood, wall push-ups, etc. etc. etc. None of which really worked for me...I couldn't get motivated and being at home, I would be distracted by my laundry or rearranging the entire of array of dishes in our kitchen. (Yeah, I like to organize things and make them efficient...my roommate LOVES that side of me...just kidding) . So I finally was able (with the help of some good old birthday money) to secure a membership at the most local gym which has been completely renovated and is quite the gym. I have actually been using that membership, and even have a couple of funny stories of which are the REAL reason I write tonight (that's quite the long intro, huh).

Story One: My FIRST day back in the gym, I was doing a some lifting when I noticed this older (upper 30s-lower 40s) man sitting at the bench press watching me. That just sings Crreeeppppy! I finished my set and was allowing my arms to rest a minute when I heard, "Can I please get a spot."
Yep, he was talking to ME! I took one look at the 200 pounds he had the bar and said, "I can stand behind you, but there is no way I lift that weight off of you should you get stuck."
He convinced me that he wouldn't even need my help, but just wanted it as a precaution. As I reluctantly made my way to my place behind the bench, he inquired as to what sport I played. If only he could have heard the roaring laughter in my head.
"I don't play any sport." I responded.
"You're built for playing sports." He must not have seen me on the treadmill earlier.
"No. Not since high school."
Luckily he started that heavy breathing routine that is done just before benching more than you are actually capable of so the conversation ended. Although then he was breathing out the beer he had consumed prior to coming to the gym. I'm not sure what is worse, ackward conversation or getting intoxicated off of someone's breath.
Anyway, he made it through one rep with all of that weight and decided to go for another during which he got stuck and his face started turning really red. AND I had to help him. It's a good thing that he could push while I pulled up or he may not be living right now!

Goodness. I do have another story, but I'm tired so I will post it tomorrow.