I was in the gym in the basement of my office building (it’s just a little office gym, it’s not like I work above a Planet Fitness or anything), and after 6:30 pm I am almost always the only person there. Personally, I enjoy that because I can just do my own thing and not feel judged. So there I am, alone, having a terrible run and sweating up a storm. At 7 pm, in waltzes this (as Michael Jackson would put it:) “Pretty Young Thing.” She’s probably early 20s, blond (perfect hair!), and tan (in New England in November!). She’s fit and sporting a tank top that ends above her belly button and has “Everlast” written on her perky chest. It seemed like irony to me.
Can you hear my inner voice beating myself up? I often consider myself to be pretty accurately described by my hair color: mousy brown. So, I’m trudging along on my treadmill, with my Irish up (I’m bright red in the face) and my flabby, white knees are running next to her perfect knees. Seriously, the girl could have been a model except that she was only about 5’5”.
Here I am feeling bad about myself when I realize that she’s running the same (slow) pace as I am… in fact, I might have been going a bit faster. She ran 1 mile total and got off the treadmill, I hit my 5th mile. She hops down, does about 25 sit ups and lifts weights for about 5 minutes and then she saunters back out of the gym. She was maybe in there for a total of 30 minutes, maybe. I was still running when she left.
Reality check for me: she was young and looking good, but at least my workout was longer than hers and I was kicking my workout’s butt! (Even though I was tired and feeling weak.)
It made me feel a bit better about me.
And in case you want to groove out to PYT: