Working Out

I used to belong to a gym. As a member, I had several reasons for going every day. I had a closet filled with pants that no longer fit me. There was air conditioning. HGTV could be found on any of the monitors above the treadmills. There was a hot tub. And, oh yeah, to be healthy.

During my time at the gym, I noticed that among the other cable-watching, I mean, health-conscious patrons there were several very specific types of exercisers. There was the big sweaty guy who had ripped the sleeves off his t-shirt and who lifted amounts of weight incomprehensible to man. Then, there was the grunting man who was not going to suffer in silence, but would make it known to all within earshot, through a series of varied huffs and heaves, that his was a grueling workout. Of course there was also that one guy whose purpose was not to see how many sets and reps he could get in, rather, to see how many sets of phone numbers he could acquire.

Next came the hard core, don’t-mess-with-me chick. She was typically a size two in black spandex and a tiny sports bra with a sweatband and bike gloves. This type worked right alongside the perfect beauty who had not a hair out of place as she completed her wind sprints, all while listening to Beyonce on her IPod.

Where did I fit in all of this? I fell under the just-rolled-out-of-bed-hide-in-the-women’s-workout-room-and-self-consciously-pull-at-my-clothing-while-dying-on-the-treadmill-and-watching-Trading-Spaces type.

My gym-going days were cut short when we moved to a place where Gold’s was no longer thirty seconds away, and thus, too inconvenient to continue a membership. I have carried on my fitness routine, though I do find it challenging now that I can no longer watch Gilmore Girls as I battle it out with the exercise machines.

Instead, I battle it out in other ways. This morning, for instance, I blasted the fat with Billy Blanks and his cardio crew. This is Tae Bo at its finest, power bands included. It’s fast and upbeat and Billy makes you contemplate not just how you’re going to blast the fat off your thighs, but things like the purpose of life, and more importantly, why Billy is wearing such tight spandex.

He accomplishes this through his many thought-provoking monologues which pepper his cardiovascular routine. Always looking deeply into the camera, he encourages me to change the way I think, to keep going, to finish that one more set (or seven more). This morning, I watched him recite what might as well have been Edward Everett’s oration at Gettysburg, all while his workout crew behind him were dropping like flies from exhaustion, each one trying to hang on until Billy gave the word. Then, and only then, was it time to put on the power bands.

The magic of working out from one’s own home is such that, while Billy gave his soliloquy from the television, I had time to grab a drink of water from the kitchen, re-tie my shoes, balance the checkbook, and make a casserole for tonight’s dinner before it was finally time for the next punch-kick-step combination. It was quite the productive workout.

Yes, I think I like this working out from home thing. Although I have to look at Tae Bo buffs shrink wrapped in purple spandex, I can avoid the sweating, grunting, flirting men of the gym, along with that girl with the ripped arms and the other one with the perfect hair. I can tug at my clothes from the comfort of my own home.

The only thing I miss is the HGTV.