To work towards my New Year’s Goal Number One, the hubby and I decided to join a gym. A real one. With treadmills. And elliptical machines. And various weightlifting apparatus (or would that be apparatii,<\/em>Latin for causing immense pain<\/em>). And trainers. And, perhaps the most intimidating, tiny little gym rats with butts so firm you could bounce a Hostess Cupcake off of them.<\/p>\n

Right after signing on the dotted line, Jer, in the interest of full disclosure, promptly informed me he would most likely not be frequenting the facility very often. Because in order to qualify for the “corporate” rate we had to sign up together, he wanted to make sure I understood this was my dream and most certainly not his. I was on my own.<\/p>\n

So, in a giant show of will and in order to start the New Year with a bang I hightailed my flabby little gullet to the gym bright and early on January 2nd. Now, I’m no beginner here, folks. It’s been a few years since I’ve darkened the doorway of a fitness facility but I’ve spent many an hour abducting and adducting in my less mature past and was very excited to get started again.<\/p>\n

I signed in at the front desk with a gigantic smile and undoubtedly “New Girl” scribed right across my forehead, and headed upstairs towards my fate.<\/p>\n

Problem #1:<\/p>\n

In my excitement, and perhaps to prove to the front counter staff that this was not my first rodeo, I ran up the flight-and-a-half of stairs. Big mistake. I was already winded and had yet to set my eyes upon one piece of fitness equipment. After I managed to catch my breath I made my way towards the “Women Only” fitness room and beelined it towards an open elliptical machine.<\/p>\n

Problem #2:<\/p>\n

Due to a screaming case of plantar fasciitis in my left foot, I am currently relegated to non-impact cardio, and thought the elliptical was probably my best bet. What I had not anticipated was the coordination necessary to operate said machine. I stepped up onto the foot pedals, grabbed a hold of the moving handles and promptly dropped my locker key. As I bent down to retrieve the key, I apparently miscalculated the size of my tuckus in direct relation to the proximity of the lady working out beside me and proceeded to knock her off her elliptical. With my butt. Yep. My butt. I recovered quickly, and with an apology to my neighbor set off to complete my allotted 30 minutes, burning in shame, looking at no one.<\/p>\n

Problem #3:<\/p>\n

I had not given thought to how 30 minutes on the elliptical machine would affect my ability to walk straight, post-exercise. Once my cardio workout was over, in a rush to get off the God-forsaken piece of equipment I stepped down from the foot pedals onto shaky legs. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the vibrating floor and it became apparent that I was the only one experiencing this phenomenon. I backed up to remove myself from the bank of ellipticals and stepped right into the treadmill behind me, causing me to lose my balance on already faulty legs and sending the poor, unsuspecting jogger off her machine.<\/p>\n

Needless to say, the rest of my workout was spent in utter horror and anticipation of ongoing humiliation. But, I made it through the debacle and even went back the following day. And, I am pleased to announce that I sailed through my next workout without causing bodily injury to anyone. Hallelujah.<\/p>\n

So, I trudge on with pursuing my goal and hope that by this time next year it will become a non-issue and I can move on to more worthy causes, like learning how to pole dance.<\/p>\n

How goes it for you? Are you making any progress?<\/p>\n

Mindy<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

To work towards my New Year’s Goal Number One, the hubby and I decided to join a gym. A real one. With treadmills. And elliptical machines. And various weightlifting apparatus (or would that be apparatii,Latin for causing immense pain). And trainers. And, perhaps the most intimidating, tiny little gym rats with butts so firm you […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1,23],"tags":[82,167,450,65],"class_list":{"0":"post-2588","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-stuff","7":"category-health-and-beauty","8":"tag-exercise","9":"tag-humor","10":"tag-new-years-goals","11":"tag-the-suburban-life","12":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2588","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2588"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2588\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2595,"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2588\/revisions\/2595"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2588"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2588"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thesuburbanlife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2588"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}