No surprise, one of my new year’s resolutions is to lose weight.
Surprise, I have a record of success.
Now I need to lose 67 more. So I’ve been making the rounds, testing out exercise facilities in the City of Manassas.
The first place I tried was in a medical complex. It had low lighting, a friendly older clientele; TV monitors set to Fox News. On the circuit machines, I tapped computer displays and listened to beeps like a lab rat hitting my mark. I had the free weights in the weight room to myself. It was like a comfortable shoe. Every time I went, I ran into someone I knew.
The second place was in a busy shopping center. It was brightly lit, welcoming, with a coffee & smoothie bar and female clientele ranging from young to elderly; energetic music and two classes — exercise and weight training – going on. While I did cardio, I talked to a female recruiter for the state police, and a writer. Staff helped me adjust the machines – no computer displays – and I did free weights on my own. It felt girly. No high pressure sales tactics.
The third place was a 24-hour facility with a parking lot packed with more than its share of little red sports cars and globs of spit on the pavement. I got “the look” from more than one athletic guy, and I hadn’t even walked in yet. Inside the glass doors it was all loud rhythms, flat screen TVs and clanking weights, and a motion mash up of legs and arms moving on conveyors and cycles, framed by racks and stacks of skimpy workout shirts and muscle magazines. The fight or flight reflex kicked in. I could taste metal in my mouth.
With determination, I put one step in front of the other. I signed in, changed clothes, worked out. I enjoyed the adrenalin high to the elliptical at 12:05 and Katy Perry’s “Roar.” I just couldn’t overcome my intimidation of the free weight room, a cathedral of glass, iron and testosterone – not me, wandering in, looking for itty-bitty 8-lb weights to do some flies. I walked up the stairs. I thought I was going to die. I had to stop and rest. I went home on wobbly legs. The pass is for 12 days. We’ll see. I know several women who thrive at this gym – one even teaches classes at a similar outlet. And they’ve told me, “the look” is in MY head. No one cares what I look like or what I do when I’m there. Just do it.
Whatever my decision, I will keep checking in with Nina Lomax and I definitely recommend her to anyone. She gave me my record of success. I’m going for the next 67 pounds. Surprise.