Run, Blondie, Run! FYI the fat in your head will never go away.

OK, just a post because I went to the gym. Yay, me. Feeling pretty good. Got myself up at the buttcrack of dawn. No, not because I'm totally motivated to get to the gym, but because the combination of my daughter coughing over the monitor and my husband's small motorboat snoring coaxed me from my slumber with the same subtlety that Lincoln was coaxed from the theater.  So taking the opportunity to get going I go dig out whatever work out clothing I can find in the dark and throw it on. Hmm, snug.  I had an apple, took my vitamins and, feeling all proud of myself, walked out the door in sweats that are too small because they're my husband's and a tshirt that shows way more of my boobage than I care to grace the world with (I have to remember to set out clothing the night before so this doesn't happen again). Since the sales guy LA Fitness said the gym was a ghost town before 6am I decide it's not the end of the world if one or two people see me like this. While my car is getting warm (this is a good time to mention I live three loong blocks from the gym. Could I walk? Sure. But it's dark. And cold. STOP JUDGING ME!) I make sure that I've got my lock, towel and water bottle. I got one of those word locks. It's awesome, I highly recommend. Even if I have a crappy workout, getting my stuff out of a locker is nicer because, really who wouldn't be made to smile if their combo was bootay. Anyhow, after getting to the gym I find that the parking lot is full. Not just full, it's overflowing. I have to park on the street and walk through the parking lot bummed because soon many people will soon see my badonkadonk and lady lumps in their full glory thanks to my husband's little sweats and my comfy, yet cleavage showcasing "Visualize Piece" tshirt. I decide that it's no secret that I'm generously endowed so I hold my head up and proceed determined to work out regardless of how pathetic I look.  I put my stuff away (ha, ha Bootaaaaay!) and head upstairs to the cardio area where there is, thankfully, one elliptical machine open. I'm between two nice older gentlemen who smile at me and continue on their way. Nice. After about five minutes I'm breathing pretty hard and keeping up with the Yeah Yeah Yeah's 'Date with the Night' is getting pretty tough. I doubt five minutes is going to earn me any results so I plow ahead. Soon the little old guys leave and I'm suddenly flanked by two girls toned like greyhounds. Ugh. The one on my right nods and I nod back. She's brunette and perfect, like every other woman in this town. That's not true I guess, unless you go to the beach. Or the Gaslamp. Or Costco where even all the mom's look like runway models. The one on my left, the blonde, is running like someone is chasing her with a torch. I kind of look at her from the corner of my eye and note that she has zero body fat. Where is she running to? Hmm, profound. Maybe she's running away from something. Oooooo. Maybe someone made her feel so bad about herself she is running and running and getting skinnier and skinnier without realizing she already had the perfect body. Her weight is the only thing she can control so she's killing herself trying to make some past mistake right. Now she's just a skeleton being held together with skin, seriously, I can see her hipbones jutting out. I wonder if she can set a drink on those things. Probably not because she only drinks self-loathing. Hmm. I sort of start feeling sorry for her in between watching the news and trying to find songs I don't hate on my ipod. Yay! I find the last episode of Lost and proceed to catch up with all my little shipwrecked friends. Suddenly, I aware of a searing pain on the left side of my face. It burns. Am I having a stroke? I turn to see the blonde pumping away at the elliptical while looking at me like I just force fed her ding-dongs. Hostility! I'm not unfamiliar with this since I admit to being sort of an asshole but usually I've done something to deserve it. I put my game face on and give her my best "Whachu lookin' at loca?" and she turns away disgusted with me. Has my fatness offended her? Well, damn if I'm going to let this tiny little bitch make me feel bad about myself. I keep going determined to outlast her concave ass. Thirty minutes later she throws me one last dagger and hops off her machine. Oh my god, thank you Jesus! I was getting so tired my knees were giving out every other rotation. I hop off, actually it's more of a graceful fall, and mop the puddles of sweat from between my boobies. I sort of get it, I'm not skinny and that makes her sad and angry, probably in the same way that John Mayer's douchieness makes me sad and angry. I think the old me would have used this as an excuse to not go anymore but I can't fall into that trap. I have to stop letting people have this sort of effect on me, isn't that the whole point of a gym? I improve? Ugh. OK, meeting with my trainer tomorrow morning, will go on with my bad self. Now if only I could stop thinking about all the yummy things I could eat because I worked off 350 calories...hmm.