I need to start this post with a gross factoid about me that is labeled TMI: too much information. But without this knowledge you won’t know where I’m coming from. I sweat. A lot. I have to wear extreme-strength deodorant/anti-perspirant daily, along with a healthy dose of baby powder. Even with that, I feel damp and sticky so I never wear anything too tight around my underarms. It’s odd then that I am not one of those drippy, wetty, sweaty people at the gym. I am not one of the people walking around with a towel mopping up behind me. Don’t get me wrong, I get a little “dewy” on the exercise bike and the treadmill. But shiny is all I get no matter how hard I work out.
I have been eyeballing the elliptical for weeks now. This machine appeals to me because the movement looks so graceful (which I am not) and every person using one is skinny as shit. I did 25 minutes on the treadmill and decided to try that elliptical.
I settle myself on the contraption and put my water in the cutesy cup-holder. I grab the handles and try to replicate the graceful movement of others around me. I’m sure that as I started I looked like an epileptic having a seizure. Ok, movement has come together, oh my dear GOD! My eyes filled with tears, then I saw nothing but red. As my vision cleared I could see that my heart had jumped out of my chest and was convulsing madly before my very eyes. This is nothing more than a torture chamber. I moved my arms and legs for what felt like an eternity, then stole a peek at the timer: one minute had passed. Are you kidding me?
It is at this point that I thanked God for giving me a thin body and tight, washboard abs. Had I been, let’s say, an almost 40 year old mother of two with a raging saggy baby belly, I would have felt that floppy mess wiggling and jiggling all over the place. It was a proud moment for me.
I clung to that thing and kept my arms and legs pumping for hours, ok… five minutes. I decided that I had to get off that fucking machine before the heart monitor exploded. As I stepped off the foot rests I noticed that my legs were quivering, my shirt was drenched. A quick peek in the mirror showed an agonized, bright red face. I was smoking hot in the most literal sense of the phrase.
I limped over to my favorite recumbent bicycle and rode for 20 minutes, a nice, gentle workout for an old fatty like me. I am going back to the gym tomorrow and you can bet your sweet ass that I’ll be back on that elliptical. Since I equate sweating and a ridiculous heart rate with weight loss, this machine is obviously the one that is going to help me beat off this weight.
Let’s see if I can make it to six minutes tomorrow. If you hear of a woman collapsing at the gym from a stroke, send cake.