I actually enjoyed it, I did. I have no complaints. “It isn’t you; it’s me.” The saga began a little over a year ago when I self consciously moseyed in, on a quest for fitness and strength. I found both. My friend, Tiff, who got credit from the gym in the form of protein smoothies for bringing me into the fold, also became my self-appointed personal trainer. Where left to my own devices I would gravitate toward the arm machines, Tiff had me hardcore lifting free weights. I have no idea who or what to blame for my âthrown outâ shoulder that first week.
The yoga was wonderful, and I settled into a routine of attending classes on the weekends I didnât have boys and hitting the machines, including my favorite, the treadmill, on weekdays. Buying a couple new pairs of yoga pants with cutouts and sheer sides made me feel legit.
Fast forward to a few months into the fantasy. My motivation to get up before 7AM on a weekend morning waned. Tiff and I enjoy lifting chips, slices of spinach and feta pizza, not to mention, wine glasses, more than weights. My gym membership was reduced to a treadmill payment, and I canât justify paying every month to walk on a treadmill when I can walk outside.
I donât have anything against gyms. Both my younger boys belong to one and use it just about daily. But for me, right now as the weather warms up, Iâm hitting the pavement. I actually have devices in place to ensure I do so… but more about that later.
So now, itâs up to me to get out there. I grab whichever friend or neighbor I can and hit the road…wearing my yoga pants with the cut outs, of course!
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