Thursday, June 23, 2016

Thurston Howell III in Drag

At least that's how I feel when I go to the gym.

Right now I'm trying to regain a little bit of strength and muscle tone in the aftermath of over six months of mrsa and lots of laying around. The problem being that the gym here is more problematic than the gym when I was a young single gal in Louisiana.

In the old days I'd show up, slam through the Nautilus machines at a frenetic pace. Not stopping to talk to anyone, no socializing, no getting all fancied up. Get 'er done!

Here at our 'wellness center' connected to the hospital in our tiny town populated with rural recondite rednecks and locals that thrive on knowing everyone elses business in glorious detail going to work out can be a minefield of weirdness.

This is the only gym I've ever seen where flocks of older ladies show up in full makeup, done hair and perfect outfits to work out?!? This really puzzles me because I've always just shown up in workout gear not caring how nuts my hair looks and definitely not wearing mascara, lipstick or foundation at all. It's very puzzling, and that's without my asthma reacting to any colognes.

One of the other things I struggle with is that I hate working out. Everything hurts or protests in my body, I'm sweating and inwardly swearing. It's just never been any fun for me. I know there are folks out there that love it. I am not one of them.

Consequently I'm not in the mood to 'chat' or socialize. I just want to get through my version of the Bataan Death March and go home. No small talk, no eye contact, no deep philosophical discussions or local gossip.

Which is a huge problem because many of those frou-froued up ladies live to flag others down and flap their jaws. It's the reason I dropped my aqua yoga class unceremoniously, because one of the ladies would not shut up, kept yapping in a class that is supposed to be largely silent and meditative.

Add in the fact that some of the members of my former church attend this gym and that some of the older gentlemen there are on the prowl for female companionship and it can really get tense.

Lately I've affected what I call my Thurston Howell III in Drag routine. When I'm working out I had my resting bitch face thing going on strongly, hoping I'm giving off unfriendly 'Do not bother me with your petty blathering' vibes, looking down at the few that invade my workout space with a mien that I hope says, 'Why are you bothering me you filthy urchin?'

If one of them attempts to hold a conversation with me I then just say something inane like 'How very quaint/interesting/droll/sweet/intriguing' and I power on past without breaking my stride.

I know it's rude, but this is one of my biggest pet peeves. I just don't have the time to stay all day at the gym and let Chatty Cathys monopolize my time.

Yesterday and today I ended up staying in the pool over twenty minutes longer than I ever intended because of my snotty gym introverted nature. Both days one of the most obnoxious ladies from my old church tried to flag me down in the pool, both times I proclaimed in my best Thurston Howell III imitation that I was busy with my workout and moved past her, both times she said she'd catch up with me in the locker room. I stayed in the pool way longer than it would take her to groom and leave.

For me this is one of the biggest changes in how I handle life. I have boundaries now and I protect them zealously. There is nothing in this world that could tempt me into engaging with this lady from my old church because I know she either wants to a) boast about herself and her righteousness, b) issue to come to our version of Jesus, c) gossip about someone, likely the recently deceased lady, d) ask for my phone number yet again so she can send me a personal word of prophesy each week from Jesus. Nope. Nope. Nope....

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