You may have noticed the MKP airwaves being a little quiet of late…. the ol’ MKP got a dose of well-deserved comeuppance at her place of do-gooder employment and felt rather demoralized about the whole of the interwebz for a few days. Don’t get me wrong, I handled the whole thing with the quiet dignity and grace I’m sure you’ve come to expect from yours truly, but the feathers were a wee bit ruffled and I’m finally coming back to roost on the LJ perch.
Things are busy! When I’m not hibernating, watching all of BBC Hot Robin Hood Season 2 and making a list of historical anachronisms like hoodies and sweater sets, I’m ushering, going to choir practice, getting up early and going up in the gym just working on my fitness.
In fact, I even scheduled myself an intake appointment with the Y’s free 12-week personal trainer program. A woman named Nicole is going to meet me on Thursday and tell me where to go. In the gym. For my workout.
By the way, this gym continues to mystify me. I moved over to the treadmills last Friday (since the TV screen on my elliptical wouldn’t tune in to the Opening Ceremonies and who doesn’t love to cry during their workout?) and as I stretched before cranking it up to a hasty 4.6 mph, I realized there was a whole ‘nother room behind the machine area where there’s apparently an indoor track (or an alley for trainers to lurk in while looking for an easy mark. Like, say, the idiot who emails them asking for an appointment) overlooking a basketball court. Who knew?
I’m also disappointed in the little visualization screens. When I zig my way up the mountain, the red dot doesn’t become a little person and do a little victory dance, or anything. It just zaps back to the bottom of the freaking mountain. And I’m meant to feel like I accomplished what, exactly?
I have at least discovered a magical way to rinse off in the shower, hit the steam room, rinse off again, and change into street clothes without exposing anything anyone could sell to the tabloids in the event I become famous. I feel like a superhero until the locker room gods outwit me again by surrounding my locker with women in various stages of total, unselfconscious nakedness that I then have to get by in order to get my coat. *sigh*
Other important discoveries (without unpleasant backlash) included finding a magical half hour from 10:10-10:35 pm…on a Friday… in which I can actually have my own lane of the pool for a while. It spares me the taxing self examination of rating my workout as likely to merit a "fast lane" position and gives me right of way when the inevitable be-Speedo’d specimen comes to splash on my aquatic parade.