So, I've really been missing the Turbo Kickboxing class at my gym. At my first doctor's appointment with this pregnancy, the Doctor told me it was good to exercise, but that I needed to keep my heart rate at or below 140 beats per minute (140 ='s not very much work. You should be able to hold a conversation without loosing your breath). So I tried to tailor the workout down. I monitored my bpm, and after a few tries, finally relinquished myself to an exercise regime outside of the aerobics room. Weights, aerobic aparati, and old men. Ahhh, the old stomping ground.
Seriously, 60% of the members that go to the gym the mornings I'm there are old men. At first it was a little alarming to me. But now I find it charming. For example, there's the man who comes in silk Hawaiian print shirts and lifts wearing gardening gloves. Leather gardening gloves! It is so cute. Most of them are very social, and I've been able to get to know a few.
Walter was the first. He and I hit it off during my first weeks at the gym last summer. He has been going to this gym every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the last 15 years, and can count on 1 hand the number of days he has missed. An interesting thing to note about Walter's gym attendance is that he never touches any of the equipment. Walter comes to the gym to exercise one thing, and one thing only--his mouth. He admitted this to me early on, and has stayed true to his word. He comes, makes his social rounds, walks certain ladies out to their cars, and takes obligatory drinks from the water fountain. He is shorter than I, has the bluest eyes I've ever seen and is always smiling. Walter was a high ranking pilot in the Marines like my Grandfather. He and I usually chat about the same things.... His grandkids, his work at the Elk's Lodge, Gracie, and now my pregnancy. Charming.
This leaves Mr. Terrible. He's rather tall, younger than Walt, and a notorious flirt. I don't actually know his real name, nor does he know mine. We started a little banter via Walter's company. This was our script for the first couple of weeks:
Terrible: Hey there.
Me: Hiya, how are you this morning?
Terrible: Oh, just terrible.
Me: I can't believe that for a minute.
Terrible: Just making sure you're paying attention... How are you today?
Me: Fantastic, thank you very much.
After a while, we abbreviated our banter to a simple "Hello Terrible, how are you?" "Alright Fantastic, how about yourself?"
The other day, he approached me at the hip abductor.
"So, tell me what's going on here," he demanded, gesturing vaguely in my direction.
"What? Were you waiting for this machine? Did I cut?"
"No, I mean this." This time he gestured directly at my pregnant tummy.
Apparently, he had been assuming the wrong things regarding my age and marital status and had been working up the courage to say something about my 'situation'. After I assured him that I was almost 27, very happily married, and that this was, in fact, our second child the tension lifted. In turn, he intimated to me that he misses his own grandson, but that he and his girlfriend (so funny to hear a 60+ year old man say that word) find consolation living three months out of the year on Maui. Pretty rough. Cori, who really doesn't think very highly about all these older men, actually told me to work this angle a little.
I still miss TKB. I can see the class as I toil on the stationary bikes and elliptical machines (all the time carefully watching my heart rate). They got a new routine last week. I really miss it. But there's good company to be had on the floor.
This week, I learned (or relearned):
The sea slug. There were hundreds of these guys.
The tide coming in... and the boys coming out.
