When I go to the gym, I go planning to break a sweat.
I know, what a crazy idea!
I can’t think of any other reason that I would actually haul myself all the way down there and spend time changing into and out of workout clothes. What’s the point of all that effort if you don’t even work hard enough to see and feel the evidence on your skin?
To think of hauling myself to the gym and changing into and out of designer workout clothes just makes me giggle. I personally wouldn’t even buy designer workout clothes, because I wouldn’t want to get them all sweaty.
Maybe that’s the reasoning that the Fashion Girls use.
The Fashion Girls strut into the gym, in pairs or trios, always chatting with each other. These girls defined the popular clique in high school, and they knew it. (What they don’t know is that they aren’t in high school anymore.) In a cloud of scent, they disappear into the locker room, emerging clad in designer label, tight, bright clothes. Their faces are made up, and not one strand of long hair dares fall out of place. They take a catwalk tour of the entire facility, gracing as many people as possible with their presence. Sometimes, they even pick up light hand weights on their journey, before settling before a railing and commencing their workout.
They chat. They scope out the guys playing basketball in the court below. They lift their hand weights for just a moment and then they laugh, surreptitiously glancing around to see who’s watching. It’s a hard ten minutes of gossip. Sometimes even fifteen!
Not one drop of sweat.
Then it’s back to the locker room, having successfully protected the considerable investment made in their workout clothes by keeping them as clean as possible.
I catch sight of them as I walk between machines or circle the track, wearing an over-sized t-shirt and worn out bicycle shorts. I’ve got a headband holding back my uncoiffed hair from my eyes and it’s drenched with sweat. There’s nothing designer about me, but I’m working my butt off and enjoying every minute.
I guess if it satisfies them, then their workout is just as good for them as mine is for me. But still, a part of me is gleeful thinking of the day, however many years in the future, when their metabolisms finally quit on them, and they discover first-hand that, in and of itself, the act of going to the gym doesn’t burn calories.