Yesterday, when my Facebook status read, “My super fun weekend made for a super bad workout,” I was not exaggerating. I learned my lesson…
My weekend was very indulgent – drinks at Natty Greene’s while cheering on Brenn as she completed the 10K Beer Run, street food from the Spring Garden Food Truck Festival, then cake from Maxi Bee’s. Yeah, I know. My inner fat kid came out. To combat this, I had a tougher than normal workout planned, designed to whip myself back into the groove of things. I started off with a run on the treadmill. I was zoned in, jamming to the String Cheese Incident on my iPod, oblivious to everyone around me. But the world began to gradually seep back in, and I smelled him before I saw him - a deadly mix patchouli and Fritos. The smell got stronger and as it wafted towards me, waves of nausea began hitting me like a ton of bricks and I tried to make as discrete an exit as possible. As I was sprinting away from the line of treadmills, I caught a glimpse of the Geico Caveman in his tank top and running shorts. Notice to overly hairy men: If the hair on your back is thicker and curlier than that on your head, do not, I repeat, do not, wear tank tops to the gym. It is repulsive and the unequivocal opposite of sexy.
A few minutes later, I regained my composure and thankfully had the pool to myself, all alone in my safe space. There is something so peaceful and calming about being in the pool alone. It makes me want to do hand stands and flips down all the lanes. I restrained myself, however, and settled in for a good 20-30 minutes of lap swimming. As I am rounding lap 15, I notice someone getting in the water at the other end of the pool. Guess who? Mr. Chewbacca himself. I try to not let it distract me, but the thought of all that hair next to me was utterly revolting. I quicken my pace, hoping to get through 20 laps without puking in the water or having a total meltdown on anyone. The pace is too fast and I get the fat crap, but keep hammering on. I look to my right to catch my breath and this guy is violating the cardinal rule of lap swimming. Actually, he broke two swimming rules: 1) Never talk to someone while they are swimming laps. It is a total choking hazard; 2) NEVER, on any occasion, under no circumstances, should you ever stare (not just glace, STARE) at the swimmer beside you underwater. It is creepy, Buffalo Bill from the Silence of the Lambs creepy. I felt violated and must have given off the disgusted vibe, because he then tells me that he was only staring at me to see the brand of goggles I was wearing. Ugh. It was so bad the old ladies in the hot tub started laughing. Embarrassing.
Maybe I subconsciously exaggerated the horribleness of my work out because I was still suffering from the Irish Flu or trying to cope with the excessive amounts of calories making a mass exodus out of my body, but I did learn some valuable lessons. The top few being I am not as young as I used to be, my body will not tolerate being fed crap anymore (I don’t think I will eat Fritos for a looooooong time) and that I have a strong distrust and abhorrence for overly hairy males. Good thing I married a man who shaves his head.
