the fat girl works it out

OK. So, let's see how well I write with a baby on my lap. Here goes.

I hadn't been in the Y since August. We bought the membership January 2008. I was not intentionally one of the throngs of New Years Resolutioners. I joined because I needed moments of sanity in the midst of my mothering and I hoped the Y [with its childcare offer] would give that to me. It did. I loved it. Then I got pregnant and felt like crap. Working out became yucky and I quit. Also I grew weary of bundling up three kids, dragging them to the Y, unloading them, walking slowly into the building, signing them in... etc, etc, etc. Any excuse would do, those were the ones I held up as my "why I don't go" banner.

Then, on Monday, Hubby asked if I would go work out with him at the man gym [a.k.a. the base gym]. I tried to be polite as I scoffed, "what? work out at the gym where it's 98% buff men? I'm sorry, Honey, but no." The next day I asked about working out at the Y instead. He checked with his supervisor and that's how we ended up at the Y. At six am.

Anyway. I walked. Thirty minutes. It felt good. I did get bored after the first 15 minutes or so had to use creative thinking to make it through. Hubby wanted me to lift weights with him. I couldn't. I used to do that. Sixty pounds ago. He so wanted me to. All I could think about was how fat I am. How it would look to see this rolly-polly, fat, ugly body lifting weights. The athletic looking men crunching away didn't help. What if they think I'm fat? Wait, I am fat. But, I couldn't stand the thought of them secretly making fun of me. So, Hubby lifted weights alone. I loitered in the lobby. Chatted with Skinny Secretary. Read the bulletin board. Debated on joining the 5k. Ha.

OK. So, there's a solid post. Baby is fussing now. Must go. Bye.