November, It Only Believes in a Pile of Dead Leaves

Now that's a first, me quoting Tom Waits.

I went to the gym this AM and did 40 minutes of cardio. I feel like a million bucks.

I'm done with overpriced glitzy gyms. I've gone that route many a time. Last week, I joined my neighborhood Y. I almost backed out when I walked into the membership area, however. I had to wait about ten minutes before they could give me a tour and I got up close and personal with the vagabond clientele that rent rooms there. Not pretty. It induced a flashback to the time that I volunteered for an agency that housed mentally ill drug addicted individuals. (At the time I was doing my, what should I do with my life? Should I go become a therapist? Let's go get some volunteer experience and see how it feels.)

That place, home to a very needy, yet volatile group of individuals, scared the shit out of me. I only did it for about six weeks and then bailed because honestly, it was just too intense. The final straw for me was when I walked in one week to find one of the men being carted away in a screaming ambulance. There was blood on the floor in the entry area and my mentor who I was working with quickly whisked me into the "employees only" area. Apparently, one of the men had self-injured himself in his apartment a few hours early by severely cutting his own penis. He had just been discovered and narrowly avoided bleeding to death.

Don't get me wrong. The place does AMAZING work and I still make a point to donate money their way. But at that point I had to ask myself what in the fuck I was doing there. Realistically, if I was going to be a therapist, I'd be one sitting in a plush office on Michigan Avenue talking to couples and unhappy housewives. This didn't really apply to what I wanted to do and I didn't always feel safe there. So, I bailed.

Tangent aside, the waiting area at theY had that institutional, schizophrenic, slightly dangerous feel to it. Men, who looked like they were up to no good,  milling about before heading out into the world to do damage to themselves or others.

But just before I headed to the door my tour began and I got sucked in. Better equipment than what I had at my last high-priced gym. A pool. Track. FREE commit to be fit program in which you get a counselor who creates a fitness plan with you and serves as someone to whom you are accountable. Babysitting for $3/hour when Charlie is older and lots of programs for him. It's a 5 minute drive from our house. And the price? $44/month! $64 for the whole family! We were paying $200/month at our last place. Count me in!

So, my goal is to get to my "vagabond gym", as I call it, at least 3 times per week. The two times I've gone, it's been great. Just a bunch of neighborhood people. We're all looking to go there, get a good workout and get the fuck out. And my Commit to be Fit coach, Montana, is pretty damn cool. He's at least ten years my junior, but he seems to get where I am and has set a program for me that seems doable.

So, I am going to lose all of this baby weight if it kills me.

Got the '80s mix going on my ipod. 338 songs long. Ooooh yeeeeaaahhh.

Hah! Pat Benetar, Heartbreaker. This is going to be a GOOD Friday!

Hope you have a Pat Benetar sort of day as well!

Comments

[Teena]

Pat rocks!