I Worked Hard … Honestly!

My road to the gym is paved with good intentions, and we all know where that leads.

Having said that I did manage to drag myself there earlier today.  I spent about half an hour on the resistance machines (is that what they’re called, because it makes me feel like I’m spearheading a robot revolution?), followed by half an hour on the elliptical.

It was hard work and as long as I remembered to suck in my stomach before looking in the mirror I felt quite pleased with myself.

While I slogged away there were a bunch of older (well, older than me) ladies pottering around in a nice gentle aerobics class.  They seemed to be having a pleasant time and I certainly enjoyed the addition of their soundtrack to my own workout.

Coincidentally their class ended at the same time as I finished and together we walked out of the gym where we sat and changed our shoes in the leisure centre’s main change area.

At that point I realized that I had walked out, red in the face and sweaty, in the company of a bunch of much older women who hadn’t even smudged their make-up.  “They’re not with me,” I wanted to scream, “I worked really hard!”

When I go to the gym I want recognition and admiration, not a bunch of cheerful, relaxed seniors making me look like a pansy.


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