Thursday, March 27, 2008

I Threw Up at the Gym

Catchy title, hey?  But it's true.  I threw up at the gym.  Not during class of course, no, I made it to the washroom in time.  Half way through the 'gym stick' class when I was on my 1200th lunge, my tummy started to do funny things and I thought I was going to pass out. Nope.  Just be sick in the bathroom.  I blame the sort of heavy dinner I had beforehand and the crap I have been eating for a week straight (easter eggs anyone?).

I thought I was in shape.  Well, I am in shape, for the most part.  Just not after eating.  I also noticed that I am the ugliest person when I work out.  The Engineer commented on my red, blotchy face wondering if I was dying.  Nope, just worked out AN HOUR AGO.  

Today I looked at the girls around me - barely breaking a sweat, hair tied up all pretty, wearing make-up for crying out loud.  I mean full on blush and heavily mascara-ed eyes!  Yes, I admit to wearing make-up myself but that is left over from the night before.  And if I work out in the later afternoon I do in fact have my day make-up on. I learned my lesson last week when my mascara dripped into my eyes leaving me blinded and stuck on the elliptical trainer.  I now think make-up at the gym is dangerous.

I get sweaty.  I mean really really really sweaty. I never used to but now I sweat everywhere.  My hair plasters itself against my neck and scalp appearing greasy and gross.  My knees sweat and when we do mat work I slip.  My hands sweat so I can't grip that big ball thing very well.  Plus I get red and blotchy.  And I mean RED.  I am super pale naturally and my skin resembles a boiled lobster with patches of this sick looking white.  I am a disaster working out.

But these girls that work out next to me - they are like models!  Actually at my gym they probably are models.  I happen to go to that 'place to be seen' gym that everyone has in their city only because it is the best price and has awesome classes.  I have heard stories of people meeting their mates at the gym.  No man has ever even asked if I was nearly done on the bike or am I finished with my Financial Times.  

I think these girls who look pretty and don't sweat when they are working out are faking it.  I think that my ugliness shows I am working and moving my muscles.  I just wish I didn't look like that for three hours after the fact . . . . .

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