A Weighty Issue

As you all know from my previous post, I’ve been hitting the gym. Not to lose a ton of weight. And not TOTALLY just to check out hot guys (although it IS a great motivation!). I’m trying to get in shape, be the best me I can be! I’ll never be a size 4. In fact, the smallest I’ve ever been was a size 6. I think that was one day back in the 6th grade. The smallest I’ve been as an adult was a 12. Again, short-lived, back in my near-anorexic days. Right now the clothes in my closet range from a size 14 to 18. Yes, they all fit– for the most part– and I am not ashamed to admit my size. Now my weight, that’s another issue!

I haven’t weighed myself since maybe high school. I tell my doctors and nurses not to tell me my weight because I’ve never been a skinny girl and that number is just that… a number! I only want to know if there’s a major increase in my weight (which I’d already know because I wouldn’t be able to fit into ANY of my clothes) or if it poses a health issue. I work out three to four days a week, eat pretty healthy, limit my fast food to once a week max (I have a weakness for fries!) The city I live in is a walking one, so I’m always hoofing it to the bus, the train, the store, everywhere. I walk a LOT. Out-walking a lot of my slimmer friends. So I feel I’m pretty healthy and stepping on the scale isn’t really going to tell me anything.

Last week at the gym, I got a little curious. I wanted to know just how much I weighed. I don’t know why. I knew knowing that number would do no good. Only cause unneccessary stress. Just as I was making my way to the scale, this older woman gets on. “Oh no. Oh no! OH NO!” she screams. “This is NOT good!” That experience scared the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of me! Instead of going toward the scale, I kept going toward the door.

Then yesterday, my curiosity got the best of me. I peek around the corner where the scale is and see if anyone’s on it. It’s empty. No one is around. I put my right foot on it and quickly the needle swings up. I put my left foot down and the needle keeps going clockwise. 130… 140… 150… When the hell was it going to stop?!?! Finally, it DID stop. There was no need to go to the truck stop and get on the machine that weighs the loads on the tractor trailers. Immediately I start reasoning. The scale is broken and is off by 10 or 15 pounds. They ALWAYS are! And I have extensions in my twists. That’s gotta be at LEAST five pounds. Oh, and I left my iPod on my arm! Deduct 18 pounds for that!

After finding more deductions than Bernie Madoff’s accountant, I was pleased with the number that should have actually been read on the scale. I decided to reward myself. My prize? Lunch at McDonalds!

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The Gym Crush

On January 1st or 2nd, I joined a gym. Not because of a resolution– I’d break that in 15 seconds, but because I’d always been a member of a gym. Actually GOING to the gym is a different subject matter. I think we all could use a little motivation to work out. For some, it may be getting into that little bikini. For others, it may be getting healthy and bringing down their cholesterol or control their diabetes or something. For me… it’s a hot guy!

I’d been going to the gym for a couple of weeks already and was starting to get a routine going on. Of course I’d noticed all the gorgeous men on the treadmills and using the free weights, but never gave any of them a second thought. Then I saw him. There he stood, pulling some bar on that machine thingy that looks like a jungle gym. A 6’4″ chocolate dipped Adonis. The sweat dripping from his bald head on to his t-shirt, causing it to cling tightly to the rippling muscles on his chest and shoulders… Excuse me, I need some water.

A few weeks pass, I figure out my Cocoa Adonis’ workout schedule. Then, it happens! He comes closer to me! My heart is racing, and not because of the 40 minutes I just did on the elliptical– all of which I spent coyly starring at him. We’re at the free weights. I lean in to reach for a weight. He leans in as well. I knew we weren’t going for the same one, but I DID purposely cross his path just to get closer to him. Our hands almost meet. He pulls back, removes the headphones from his glistening head. I pull my earbuds out so I can absorb the words he’s about to speak. His plump, luscious lips part. A smooth, caramel covered baritone sound emerges from deep down in his beautifully chiseled chest. “I’m sorry. Were you reaching for something?” he says. “Just your perfectly shaped, rock hard a**!” I reply in my mind. Back to reality. “Oh, no… go ahead!” I say to him and try to restrain a super-girly giggle. He moves in front of me and bends over slightly to pick up his weights. Meanwhile, I step back and enjoy the view!