Let's Get Physical... Or Not
"Don't you just love summer in New York City?" a publicist named Debbie asked me as we sat on the fabulous rooftop of The Sports Club LA, one of her many super-cool clients. It had poured that afternoon, but that night couldn't have been more perfect: clear sky, hint of breeze. 'Tis the season of movies in Bryant Park and rollerblading along the Hudson River at last.
We were sitting at an umbrella table sipping sangria, snacking on sushi, spring rolls and chicken satay. But then the exhibition began. Watching aerobics teachers demonstrate exotic classes like Zumba and Yogilates while drinking and eating hors' dourves made me feel... um... lazy is a nice way to put it. The good news? This event just might have inspired me to join a gym again!
The brochure they distributed encouraged working out with a partner for motivation. But I, for one, prefer to be anonymous at the gym. I'm not one of those women who dolls up for fitness. I don't wear makeup to the gym. I do wear baggy, coffee-stained t-shirts. I try not to make eye contact with anyone. And do not talk to me while I'm on a machine. It's nothing personal, but I'm not there to chat.
And then there's that other issue: I'm a tad bit competitive.
F and I tried playing tennis together once, but one of us may have ended up with a tennis-ball-shaped welt on our calf. We ran together once, but one of us may have ended up hyperventilating. We've never belonged to the same gym, but we occasionally hit the hotel fitness center together on vacation. My usual non-vacation workout usually consists of a yoga class, maybe a half hour on the elliptical and some sit-ups (none of which ever take place on the same day). But when I see F lifting weights, I lift weights! When he runs, I run! Anything you can do I can do better!
It's exhausting.
How about you...
In our house it's the husband who is the competitive one and since he's in better shape than I am to start with it's not much fun for me! lol
In describing her competitiveness, the author forgets to mention the day this commenter was driving her and her husband into New York City from New Jersey and heard a *thud* "ow!" from the back seat midway through the Lincoln Tunnel.
"What was that?"
"Oh," said F, "she was trying to beat me into Manhattan."
No, we don't work out together, but not because we're too competitive. If I waited for him to work out, I'd never work out at all, and it's hard enough to get myself motivated to exercise, much less motivate someone else.
DW and I love working out together. I'm a big fan of anything that involves watching her body in motion, and she admits to getting a little turned on watching my muscles while I'm lifting. It's like foreplay... in public... with (gym) clothes on.