The Gym

I go to the gym regularly.  But only on weekdays (which eliminated Sat/Sun).  And only on days when I'm in the office (which eliminates Tuesdays and Fridays).  And only when I'm working with Care (which eliminates Thursdays.)   And only ever on our lunch breaks when neither of us are running behind,  And only ever on days when one of us doesn't have some sort of life crisis going on that necessitates a good deep fried meal at the greasy spoon restaurant across the street. 

That's right. I go to the gym regularly- -which averages about once a week.  But boy do we feel good about it.  

This whole thing with Toby's illness and me being off work for 3 weeks really threw off our regular exercise program.  We have both noticed the effects.   Care and I usually talk a couple of times a day, but lately we've had to add in an extra late night phone call to make sure the other one was COMMITTED to going back to the gym the next day and initiating our return to the gym.  Care is a good friend- - she sticks to the rules, too.  I'm sure she was tempted, but she remained loyal during my entire absence and didn't venture to the gym without me ONCE.

And so we recommenced our regular exercise routine last week.  I didn't go my first day back because we had things to talk about and paperwork to do -- and we also hadn't been to Tim Hortons together in a while.  Priorities.  But the Wednesday we had no excuse and we ventured back.

The problem came this week - -I was just getting back into the grind when out of the BLUE Care forgot her gym clothes.  Usually, when this happens, its a  welcome excuse for both of us to throw up our hands in innocence and make our way to Tim Hortons or some other lunch venue.  But last Wednesay marked the 4 week mark of my flirtation with complete inactivity.  And for the first time in my LIFE...I decided to bite the bullet and.....(don't judge me on this)....go to the gym...on my own...

It was a battle of willpower.  But I did it.  And I was bored.  And I felt guilty. And I was well aware of the fact that I would have much rather been leisurely sipping on a cup of Timmy's with Care...but I thought I was doing the right thing.   But these feeling were all minor compared to the HORROR I discovered when I got back to the change room....

I got to the change room and it was FULL of people. Which was probably about 5 but its a small gym and an even smaller change room and its really REALLY awkward when you're changing with 5 other women in very close quarters  you don't want to make eye contact with but you're not REALLY sure are not your patients.

SO I quickly grabbed my towel and headed for the showers.  Care and I don't usually shower.  We don't really work up TOO much of a sweat what with all the chatting that we do while exercising.  So I was feeling a bit out of sort already as I ventured to the shower room on my own.  I spent an extra bit of time in the shower, hoping that the giant change room crowd would have dissipated by the time I had finished.  I guess I underestimaed my showering speed.

As I grabbed my towel and my clothes I realized with HORROR what I had done.

I hadn't packed a towel at all.

I'd packed a rag.

A very nice rag, mind you.  A while terry-cloth rag with blue stripes on it. I'm sure at one point in its life it was a piece of a beautiful big bath towel.  Unfortunately, now it was a rag that was probably all of 10x10cm.  Which isn't much when your'e about to face a gym room full of skinny-work-out-women-who-may-or-may-not-be-your-patients.  And WHERE was Care in all of this?  Probably safely back at the office sipping tea and doing paperwork.  Ah, paperwork.  How I longed to be fully clothed doing paperwork.

It didn't take me long to run down my options.  I didn't have very many. I could either put back on my sweaty gym clothes or make a mad dash for my locker with my little rag protecting me from the crowds of staring women.  The answer was pretty evident.  I knew what I had to do.  And the REAL question became...WHICH genital to cover up....I had the option of the front, the back or the left or the right boob.  Now, most of you may think its a no brainer- - the front -- ALWAYS the front.  ESPECIALLY when you've spent the last month of your life at a hospital living on the bare necessities which DON"T INCLUDE razors.  But it wasn't that clear cut- - keep in mind I was planning to RUN Into the change room- -does one REALLY want their cellulitic ass bouncing around for all to see?  What about bouncing-saggy-post-breast-feeding-boobs?  But if I covered one then the other one would still be in plain sight...

I didn't think it through all that much longer. I opted for a weird dance-like-shimmy as I threw my arms about in flurried movements, covering various genitals in alternating succession while my feet did a kind of Greek grape vine like shuffle to my locker. Thank GOD I didn't fall fall on my face.  Or into my locker.

I made it out of the gym that day alive but missing a part of my dignity.  I was still red faced when I got back to the office and Care casually asked me if I'd had a good time.

No, I said.  I missed you.   I don't think I'll go it alone again anytime soon.

Enough said.