The YMCA: Your Home Away from Home
After three days of using the ellipticals at the YMCA, I think I'm pretty well sold on them. My knees do not cry! The fact that I do not go as fast on them as I do on a treadmill upsets me (I liked my ten-minute miles), but I figure that giving my arms something to do with themselves is worth the trade-off. Also, putting the elliptical in reverse lets me discover muscles that I never knew I had.
So now I've shamed talked my mother into hitting the Y with me before work every morning. Today was our first go at it, and I noticed that she brought a lot of luggage: a large duffel bag, some sort of enormous roll-up carrier for her cosmetics, a plastic bag for her soap and cleansers, and her work clothes. As someone whose needs boil down to a change of clothes and a freezer bag full of toiletries, I boggled a bit. She suggested that I go ahead and work out another ten or fifteen minutes after she stopped, but I didn't think it would take her that long to get ready.
So I stopped, showered, and got dressed. As I finished wringing out my hair, my mother emerged from the shower in-- I kid you not-- a fluffy pink bathrobe. After watching five minutes of her interminable prettifying routine, I took the keys and said that I'd be in the car. I kicked back and ate my packed breakfast. I did some stretches. I played around with a shell script on my laptop. Twenty-five minutes later, my mother finally joined me in the parking lot.
Sometimes the obvious needs stating, and I am happy to oblige. "You brought your fluffy pink bathrobe."
"I am a creature of comfort," she replied. "Tomorrow I'm going to bring my fluffy slippers." So this is where my brother gets it from.
Tomorrow I'm working out an extra twenty minutes.
So now I've shamed talked my mother into hitting the Y with me before work every morning. Today was our first go at it, and I noticed that she brought a lot of luggage: a large duffel bag, some sort of enormous roll-up carrier for her cosmetics, a plastic bag for her soap and cleansers, and her work clothes. As someone whose needs boil down to a change of clothes and a freezer bag full of toiletries, I boggled a bit. She suggested that I go ahead and work out another ten or fifteen minutes after she stopped, but I didn't think it would take her that long to get ready.
So I stopped, showered, and got dressed. As I finished wringing out my hair, my mother emerged from the shower in-- I kid you not-- a fluffy pink bathrobe. After watching five minutes of her interminable prettifying routine, I took the keys and said that I'd be in the car. I kicked back and ate my packed breakfast. I did some stretches. I played around with a shell script on my laptop. Twenty-five minutes later, my mother finally joined me in the parking lot.
Sometimes the obvious needs stating, and I am happy to oblige. "You brought your fluffy pink bathrobe."
"I am a creature of comfort," she replied. "Tomorrow I'm going to bring my fluffy slippers." So this is where my brother gets it from.
Tomorrow I'm working out an extra twenty minutes.