Love, Jimmie

Yesterday morning I went to the gym.  That is a statement in and of itself as I haven’t been what you call regular with those gym visits lately.  But I got a gander of myself in one of the those dressing rooms where you can see the front of yourself and also the back of yourself and let me tell you, that right there will motivate you to get up off your pancake butt and go to the gym.  You’d think it would motivate you to lay off the chocolate also but it seems I need something far more drastic than a back and front mirror.    

Anyway, yesterday morning I went to the gym.  I did a leg workout.  It was a good idea overall, but when I got to the locker room to start my after workout ablutions, I realized I left my makeup bag in the car.  I’ve been doing that a lot lately, forgetting the small things.  It’s what happens when your life gets super busy.  Just last week I forgot my shoes.  I was leaving for work and grabbed my overnight clothes bag as I was spending the night with Martie, my purse, my lunch bag, my computer bag and my computer which for some reason was not in the bag.  I ran out to the car and slung all my stuff in it, not wanting to be late for work. I flung myself into the driver’s seat, backed out of the driveway and drove nearly all the way out of my neighborhood before I realized I was not wearing any shoes.  Nor did I pack any in my overnight bag.  So that was a good morning. 

Anyway, I left my makeup bag in the car.  I walked through the gym, a flat surface, and out the side door to the parking lot where I had to step down off the curb, a tiny lip of concrete, and there I nearly fell down.  That’s how weak my knees were after my hard core workout.  (I can call it hard core because none of you were there to dispute it.)  I got my makeup and then realized that I was going to have to walk through the front entrance of the gym to get back to the locker room.  The entrance is all stairs, first up and then down.  STAIRS!  Y’all, I could have cried. 

I did it.  It wasn’t without danger.  That staircase was fraught with peril.  My legs at best were shaky.  At five steps in they were jelly.  At the top of the staircase, my knees said no more and then I had to clutch the rail all the way on the downside of the staircase like a little old lady so as not to collapse in a heap at the bottom of the stairs and embarrass myself in front of the one hot guy at the gym. 

I’m fine now, thanks for asking.  But seriously, whose idea was it for me to do a leg workout every week?  Lynnette?  I might be mad at you.  I’ll let you know tomorrow when I assess my level of pain.