If you want a good laugh, come over to the gym and watch the dorky white girl with the big feet and baggy sweats lumbering around, tripping over herself, gasping for breath, arms flailing, sweat pouring down her beat-red face, looking like she's going to pass out at every turn, while a 75 year old woman laps her snickering. That pathetic character stumbling around is me. Yes, non-believers, I, Ms. Not-an-athletic-bone-in-my-body actually got a gym membership. I wonder if they have a service where a trainer will come to the house and drag me over there kicking and screaming if I go too long? My hope is that having a paid membership will guilt me into going, either that, or Mark will drag my butt over there when he goes. I have to admit, though, that the prospect of an excuse to get out of the house sans kids for some quality "me" time is rather titillating. And I already checked - they have free wireless internet, so I'll feel right at home. This could either be disastrous or really good for me, I haven't decided yet.
I've never had a gym membership in my life (aside from the handful of times Jackie or Mere dragged me to the gym at UNH) so stay tuned for some guaranteed funny stories that I'm sure will come out of this.
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