Let me tell you a little story, a true story.
I decided to go to the gym today. I’ve been on a little hiatus from the gym after a rough time with the same ol’ bone spurs in my lower back and hip. I’ve had to break up with crossfit for a little while…sorry, crossfit, it’s not you; it’s me…while I test out some easier workouts. Today was my first effort at a “normal” gym, as opposed to a “crossfit box.”
I pulled on my spandex pants. Yay for spandex pants! Look at how great my butt is in spandex pants! I realized today somehow every single pair of gym pants I own is cropped; how did that happen? Cropped pants were not a good choice for today, but I was not going to be stopped by overly short spandex.
Sports bra time. I really prefer the sports bras that zip up the front and put everything on lockdown, but I don’t have one that doesn’t sneak itself unzipped mid-workout right now, so I had to go with the backup bra.
I dislike sports bras that pull over my head. It’s not the pulling them on that gets problematic; it’s the trying to pull a soaking wet bra off post workout that gets a little tricky. They stick and become unwieldy…and then boom, you’ve smacked yourself in the face with the sweaty thing. Bleh.
The backup bra is kind of a hybrid deal…pulls on over my head, but does have hooks in the back so it’s not a total Houdini act to remove it after going to the gym. Not my favorite, but it will have to do, because no excuses: it’s gym day.
Pull it on over my head, and I go to hook the back…and it won’t hook. I try several times and then the panic kicks in:
Oh hell, have I gained 800 pounds since I stopped crossfit?
I must’ve gained 800 pounds.
I start bargaining with myself and the sports bra as I try to fasten it:
If I can get this thing on, I will do double the workout I’d planned for today.
If I can get this bleeping bra hooked, I will consume only water, air, and celery for the next 2 weeks.
If I can just get dressed and go to the gym, I will never leave the gym since they are open 24 hours…I’ll just stay there until this bra fits better.
The wrestling continued for a few more minutes, so then I dragged the scale out to see what the damage was. I closed my eyes while the digital scale calculated the big reveal…and then the number popped up. It’s the same it was, same as it has been…I’m still a delicate flower. WHAT THE HELL?
If I can’t put on a sports bra, I can’t be trusted at a gym.
If I can’t put on a sports bra, how can I drive a car?
I took a break from the sports bra and put on my socks and shoes, pleased that I could still operate the laces. Pants and shoes: more than halfway there. Let’s try this one more time.
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! It will not fasten. I can’t do this. Throw the cursed thing on the bathroom floor and glare at it…and I realize…I had it inside out.
Ahem.
Problem solved.
Please ignore all my pleas and sworn oaths related to celery; I was under duress.