Back Row Blues

To those of you who await eagerly the details of my exercise regimen, here it is:  Today, at 5:30, I got out of bed and picked up Micah one time.  Then, still holding her, I stumbled back to bed, avoiding the seven piles (one for each person and a pile of leaning towels) of folded laundry scattered haphazardly on the floor last night, when I attempted to go to bed without remembering that I'd folded the laundry on my bed, but not yet put it away.  This is my version of an obstacle course, similar to what you see in movies about boot camp.  If you don't think I can compare these two things, try it.  Keep your eyes closed, hold a 20lb weight if you don't have a baby, be groggy-- if not tired, get drunk first-- and don't knock over any of the piles, since you'll just have to refold them in the morning if you do.


Granted, by the time I got out of bed at 7:30, still holding Micah, JMahl had been up for hours, gone to the gym, showered, and got dressed for work-- all without any heed for my piles.  And Kolbie had come in to see if I was awake yet-- another pile gone.  And Mason, looking for his favorite sweater that he wears three times a week-well, yet another pile gone.  You know what I'll be doing today-- refolding laundry that I just folded yesterday!  yeah!  My favorite!  


And since I have laundry to fold and I've already done my exercise for the day, there's no need for me to go to the gym today.  Because, yes, I have been going to the gym.  Twice since I got my membership last week, so I think I'm on a bit of a roll.  And here is what I've discovered about the gym:


There are two types of people who frequent the gym:  overweight, out-of-shape people and Extremely Fit, Tanned-even-in-March, Attractive people.  I'm not sure what happens to the in-betweens.  The ones who are moderately in shape but didn't manage to maintain their tan, or the ones that are unattractive, yet fit.... I guess they quit going to the gym until they can very easily be catagorized, since there are only two categories-- something that is firmly set in stone... or set in heavy work out equipment.  Because the lines are drawn- quite literally- in the gym.  


You see, your gym may be different, but my gym has the  mandatory big windows so everyone outside can see you, and inside, there are two rows of treadmills.  One row facing the windows, the other row staring at the Extremely Fit, Tanned, Attractive behinds of the people in the row facing the windows.   Because only the truly EFTA are allowed to work out in the front row.  And I get it.  If you've got people walking past the gym, you don't want them to see the overweight, sweating and huffing after three minutes of walking on the treadmill members.  You want them to see the Extremely Fit, Tanned, Attractive members.  And there they are, in all their glory... running for 45 straight minutes with a smile on their face, casually chatting to whatever EFTA is running beside them.  They are so happy.  So beautiful.  You want to be up there with them.  But no, you are in the back row.  


And the back row is for those of us who A/ are not allowed in the front row; B/ don't want other people looking at us as we sweat and stumble; and C/ like to look at the EFTA behinds in the front row.  Now, I may fall in categories A and B of that example, but I will not admit to category C.  That is reserved for the slightly dumpy middle-aged men who work out next to me.  Because it never fails that there is, in the front row, a beautiful girl wearing a sports bra and nothing else on top-- and she fills her sports bra well.  And she's got tight bicycle shorts on-- and she fills them well too.  And she sweats very sexually.  In fact, she doesn't sweat- she glows...  And she tosses her head around as she runs in slow motion (only the front row has slow-mo treadmills) and her hair is shiny and glorious.  And she smells like vanilla and cinnamon (I'm sure)... and the men in the second row stare...  And stare... And stare... as she runs on her treadmill, bouncing in all the right places and none of the wrong. Aw heck, I'll admit it.  I even stare.  It's impossible not to!  


This girl is what occasionally causes an EFTA male to move back to the second row.  He'll enter the gym and walk to the front row, going up and down speaking to all the other Ones, do the secret handshake, clap on the back what-have-you, laugh about just how much fun it is to be at the gym again today!, and then you'll casually hear him say "I prefer the treadmill right behind you... it makes my pecs even bigger" (or something like that), and then he'll come back to the second row-- repeating his excuse so that we realize he does not belong here and that he's just here temporarily-- and he'll proceed to stare at the front row's behind for the next 30 minutes before moving on to EFTA location number 2--the free weights.  To be allowed in the free weights section you have to be Extremely Fit, Tanned, Attractive AND walk as though you've got a  medicine ball in your underwear.  Hey, maybe you do.  I'm a married woman... can't really check that, can I?  To my knowledge, no woman is allowed in the free weights area, although they are allowed to stand on the outskirts and admire their shape in the mirror as they play with little hand-weights and give the men someone to show off for-- when showing off for each other isn't enough.  


I have no desire to be allowed in the free weights section, as I have no desire to be crushed to death.  But ah.. .one day, one day I hope to walk into the gym and have the gym manager walk over to me and say "why don't you try out one of our treadmills on the front row?  I'm sure you'll find them to your liking".  And I can already feel the stares boring into my behind as I run without panting and bounce in only the right places-- as little girls heading to the ($3!) childcare while their mothers head to the back row point at me and say "Mommy!  I want to look like HER!"  Ah...One day, that EFTA will be me.  


But, until that day comes, I will do my 20 minutes of exhausted, wobbly knees and pounding heart fast-paced walking in the back row at the gym, then come home and do an equally wobbly, groggy obstacle course through my bedroom with a baby in my arms- where at least I know my husband is looking at my behind.  


(Of course, after explaining this EFTA syndrome to my husband last night, I should not have been surprised at how eagerly he got up and headed to the gym at 6am this morning. He would say that my gym membership is motivating him to renew his focus on health, but we both know how enthralled he was with my description of the super-hot, half-naked woman working out on the front row treadmill.  And while my husband is super-hot as well, I'm willing to bet he made a conscious decision to work out on the back row this morning.)