Fitness, JP Style
The gym membership has begun. The thing is, I wasn't even really looking to start a membership, it more or less fell into my lap. My boyfriend actually has a friend that lives in JP; which is really weird for me, seeing as how I only know one person who lives in my neighborhood and I talk to her about once every two years. I feel like I'm in a remote tundra sometimes (but with really great bus service). Anyway, when you have friends that live in the same neighborhood, you -get this- learn things about your neighborhood. For instance, you learn there is a brand spanking new gym known as Mike's Fitness.
One random day, while driving home after a feasting of beef empanadas, the boyfriend startling declared, "That's the street the new gym is on!" Feeling particularly rotund, we decided it definitely couldn't hurt anything to check it out.
Instantly, we were sold.
This is the first hard core gym I've ever joined. By hard core, I mean where most of the machines don't have cute little rivets to hold the little play plates into place. No, most of the machines here require the retrieving and stacking of muscle man round steel weights onto the machines of death. I feel like an iron woman just looking at them. And that's the kind of encouragement I need. No prissiness here. Only heaving muscles, contorted faces, and bellowing grunts. I fit right in!
Ok, I don't really. Maybe the contorted face part (those five pound weights are heavy, cut some slack!), but really I am more like a diminutive blade of grass caught in the hulking shadows of redwood trees. However, I am talking about JP. There are only so many muscle men in the vicinity and they, of course, have all found their way here. But the other locals are also starting to trickle in, too. The other day, I trotted into the aerobics room to do some situps, only to be greeted by a skinny 30-ish white man, complete with white man fro and sweatband, energetically kicking around a hacky sac while jamming to dance hall reggae. Dude brought his own jambox! I mean, COME ON. So awesome.
Not to mention, Mike's Fitness has also afforded me the opportunity to discuss Allure articles with the cutest gay man ever. And did I mention the fanfuckingtastic dance music booming from the speakers? It makes me fondly remember the days when clubbing was an actual verb in my vocabulary.
Won't it be so scary if I end up looking like this woman?
Bring it on, baby! Bring it ON.
One random day, while driving home after a feasting of beef empanadas, the boyfriend startling declared, "That's the street the new gym is on!" Feeling particularly rotund, we decided it definitely couldn't hurt anything to check it out.
Instantly, we were sold.
This is the first hard core gym I've ever joined. By hard core, I mean where most of the machines don't have cute little rivets to hold the little play plates into place. No, most of the machines here require the retrieving and stacking of muscle man round steel weights onto the machines of death. I feel like an iron woman just looking at them. And that's the kind of encouragement I need. No prissiness here. Only heaving muscles, contorted faces, and bellowing grunts. I fit right in!
Ok, I don't really. Maybe the contorted face part (those five pound weights are heavy, cut some slack!), but really I am more like a diminutive blade of grass caught in the hulking shadows of redwood trees. However, I am talking about JP. There are only so many muscle men in the vicinity and they, of course, have all found their way here. But the other locals are also starting to trickle in, too. The other day, I trotted into the aerobics room to do some situps, only to be greeted by a skinny 30-ish white man, complete with white man fro and sweatband, energetically kicking around a hacky sac while jamming to dance hall reggae. Dude brought his own jambox! I mean, COME ON. So awesome.
Not to mention, Mike's Fitness has also afforded me the opportunity to discuss Allure articles with the cutest gay man ever. And did I mention the fanfuckingtastic dance music booming from the speakers? It makes me fondly remember the days when clubbing was an actual verb in my vocabulary.
Won't it be so scary if I end up looking like this woman?
Bring it on, baby! Bring it ON.
posted by Notyomomma
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