Over Christmas break, The Dad signed me up for his gym. Wait, wait, wait... don't start hatin'; I asked to join. It's not like he said I had to start going to the gym or else. I wanted to make my new year a healthy one and since the gym is only three minutes from our house, it's very convenient and I'm sure that after just a few short weeks of being a member I'd totally be a size 8.
Except that in order for a gym to actually work, one must actually go. That's right. I've been a member for exactly one month and I've yet to go to the gym. When The Dad signed me up, I was in the throws of a massive stomach bug and then school started back up and then we had all the snow and corresponding snow days and then we have basketball practice.
Really, I'm not making excuses. These excuses came ready-made!
This weekend, however, I decided it was time for me to just bite the bullet and go. The Dad said I would have to get my picture taken and finish filling out the papers, but other than that, I was good to go!
Saturday afternoon, I pulled up to the gym, enthusiastically hopped out of the van and went to the door. I got my security fob out of my pocket, beeped the door, then pulled... my arm off. The door was not budging. I fobbed again and beeped again and pulled again. There was no opening that door.
I tried knocking. I could see people - faintly through the massive window tinting - but they didn't even acknowledge my tap, tap, taps. So, I tried to fob again. You know - maybe now that I had knocked and peeked in the windows the fob would work. It didn't. So, I tried it again!
I think it was Will Rogers who said doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results was the true definition of insanity. And there I was sweating at the door of the gym, insane with my inability to actually get INTO the gym. I took off my coat and tied it around my waist. Seriously, the fob-beep and pulling was raising my heart rate just a tiny bit.
Eventually, after about 15 more fob-tries, another member came and let me in with his fob access.
Finally, I was in. No one was at the desk and the hours posted on the wall indicated that no one would be there for me to finish the paperwork. Oh well, I'd just go ahead and get my first work out under my belt. So I bent down to pick up my gym bag and discovered that it was not at my feet.
It was just outside the door. Of course it was. And why wouldn't it be? Because this, my friends, is the way I roll through life.
I push the door open and dislocate my shoulder. Why? Because the door is refusing to move - yet again! Embarrassed, I look around at the gym full of people who are apparently keeping their New Year's Resolutions, and not a one of them says, "Push the exit button." So, I push the door even harder. Still nothin'.
After about five pushes, I notice the exit button, push it, hear a beep and then push the door, dislocating my other shoulder. The door didn't move and it was at this point that I began to panic thinking I could very easily be trapped inside a gym. My worst nightmare! If I could just strip down naked, it'd be exactly like my worst nightmare!
Right now, I just want to leave and if I could have found anything heavy enough (like a dumbbell?) I would have thrown it through the window just to get out. Instead, I walk to the other side of the gym, where the doors have a fob-scanner by the door in order to exit. I scan my fob; it beeps and I push against the door. Believe it or not, the door remains shut. Shocking! What is this place? Do they really lock you in here until you really are a size 8?
I think it's at this point that my ears start ringing. I glance back at the juice heads who are pumpin' iron and not a one of them seems to notice the fatty at the doors crying to get out! Really, I'm crying. Real tears.
Not being one to give up - except when it come to exercise programs, I continue to beep my fob and continue to grunt as I push my sweaty body against the door in vain. I could have gotten on the treadmill in my street clothes and Crocs right beside the door and looked like I intended to work out right there all along and wait for the next Jack LeLanne to leave and then race out the door right behind him, but I, instead, spend the remainder of my time at the gym fob-beeping and pushing - to no avail. Mentally, I begin to make a list of all the things I want my momma-less daughters to know about me. Maybe I can get the list on the outside, and they won't forget who I am!
After I've cried all the tears I can and my hair is oily from sweat, a kind grandmother-ly woman emerges from the tanning area and leaves, I race right behind her, grabbing her jacket just in case the door closes too quickly. I grab my gym bag and decide that I'm too spent to attempt to go back in. I race to the minivan where I discover that I've actually been at the gym for over 30 minutes. All of that time working out on ... the door!
When I walk into the house, The Dad, obviously noticing the sweat on my brow and the terror in my eyes says, "Looks like you had a good work out!"
I break down in tears, "My fob won't work!"
"Well, honey," he says as he puts his arm around my shoulder and comforts me, "When you signed the papers, it should have been activated. You signed your papers, right??"
THAT would have been good information before I even began my battle of the doors!
And sadly, I am not a size 8 yet...
