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Like every good American, I am at the Y in January doing my thing on the treadmill (truth be told, I was there in December as soon as I found out about my PCOS). The downtown Y is about two blocks from my office and thus tons of people from work go there. That’s unfortunate. I don’t really love seeing my co-workers in biker shorts. But then again, they probably don’t love seeing me in my too-tight little workout pants I’ve had since 1999 (and 35 lbs ago…).
I love to people-watch, probably because I have an insanely overactive imagination and I like to make up stories about them or use them as characters in stories I write. There is a girl I see in the elevator at work whom I’ve never met but she is a main character in the novel I’m writing. At least, I mean, I picture her when I write that character.
There are so many fun types of people at the gym:
–Old guy, who has one of those weight belts around his waist and carries about a 60-lb weight effortlessly;
–Old guy who moans between weight sets and you worry he might up and die right there in the YMCA;
–Guy who is pretending to ride a cycle, but only pedals between talking with his friends and laughing loudly;
–Tiny, model-type girls who do the elliptical trainer until they are going to pass out and then squeeze in a few reps on the inner and outer thigh machine;
–People who run funny;
–People who give me nasty looks when I giggle at them running funny;
–And then the rest of us, just trying to fit in a 30-minute workout so we can go home and eat pizza and not feel so bad about it. (OK–yes I did have pizza tonight, but it was homemade Oat Bran Pizza Crust with Asian chicken topping…not so bad for me!)
I love the post-New Year’s rush at the Y when there are other people who don’t know what they are doing populating the place as well. It makes me feel better. The parking lot was so full on Saturday afternoon someone waited for my space. So they didn’t have to walk any further to the front door. Wouldn’t want to overexert themselves, you know?