Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Let's Work it Out

One of my favorite aspects of being single is the ability to set my own routines. I'm a routine person to begin with and being single makes it easy for me to stick to my rituals. I'm working my way back into an exercise regiment which is both challenging and rewarding. By exercise routine I don't mean marathons, triathlons, or Iron Man races. I don't have what it takes to do those; namely, desire.

No, my little exercise regiment is, at the moment, three to four days a week at the "gym" at my apartment complex. It's a good 30 -40 minute walk on the treadmill at a good clip followed by a few "reps"(as they say in the biz) with some free weights. It works for me and I am able to set goals for myself. I guess you could say I am the Goldilocks of working out...not too easy, not too hard, but JUUUUST right.

The "gym" at my apartment complex is basically a workout room. Considering there is no membership fee and it's located literally next door to my building, I find it to be pretty darn nice. It's also pretty darn basic and I find that the people who frequent it are status quo. There are folks who are in better shape than I am and folks who are in worse shape than I am. I would probably fall in the middle in comparison.

If I was a serious athlete and "in training", I'd consider the Gables Grandview workout room "cute". It would be where I would stop over for my "cool down". You don't get a lot of Iron Men in there on a regular basis, which is why yesterday was such a departure from the usual after-work crowd.

Before I even crossed the threshold of the workout room, I could see the silhouette of a frantic elliptical user in the window. The workout room is encased in floor to ceiling windows so I can usually gage how crowded it is while I am en route. There are only four treadmills so my arrivals must be timely. I'm used to looking inside on my way over to see if I can spot a vacant one, then I hone in on it like a cadaver dog on a scent and do not relent. At any rate, I ended up claiming a treadmill two machines over from the elliptical enthusiast. Her wild antics continued as I proceeded with my workout and several times, I honestly thought she was going to propel herself off of the elliptical and the hilltop and land on a tree limb somewhere on the side of a cliff. I had this cartoon-esque imagery in my head which made concentration difficult. Something a la old school Looney Tunes.

Had this been a spinning class, she would have been the instructor; up front with a Madonna drive-through head-set on calling out motivational chants like the Tony Robbins of exercising. But it wasn't a spinning class. This is the Gables Grandview; the anarchy of activity. No lifeguards at the pool and no instructors on staff in the workout room to prevent you from smashing your femur with a weight. My fellow workout tentant seemed so serious, so focused, and so out of her element.

I was determined to get into that zone where the endorphins do their thing and you find you are enjoying your workout so while it was difficult to flip off my peripheral vision, I managed to do so and with great success; I shaved three minutes off my time from the day before. For me, a personal victory.

As I was entering the twilight of my workout, my fellow workout tenant was still going strong. She now bore a resemblance to Chris Farley in Tommy Boy during the "She's a Maniac" scene with Rob Lowe. Upon further inspection I noticed that she had a small piece of notepaper affixed to her elliptical. That's right people, Tommy Boy had brought with her workout instructions, presumably she was doing different increments at different speeds or something equally complicated. Whatever the reason, there was no denying that Tommy Boy had INSTRUCTIONS with her. Where was I? IKEA?

While I am motivated on my own to return to the gym today after work, I must confess that seeing what Tommy Boy has as her routine du jour gives me added incentive to go straight home and hit the t-mill, perhaps in record time.