Elliptical Ponderings

Sweat trickled down the middle of my back. My shirt stuck to my less-than-firm tummy and the under wire of my bra. Beads of perspiration made a road map of my face and any remnants of makeup were erased. Leg muscles burned as I pushed myself harder in the quest of a shapelier shape. Five minutes on the stair stepper, five minutes on the stationary bike, five minutes on the elliptical machine, and repeat. After this I start working on the cable machine and core exercises during which I punish my body for last night’s Snickers bar. This is what I do every Tuesday and Thursday; even Saturdays if I get the chance. Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays are my ‘slow’ days in which I only do an hour of cardio and fifteen minutes of core movements.
Looking at this schedule you might think I’m a cover model for a fitness magazine, but I assure you I’m not. I’m a wife and mother of four children for the past eleven years. I managed to cram all four pregnancies within five years and if you do the math you’ll see I’ve spent half of my married life having babies. A person might think I have wasted my twenties doing nothing but have babies and gain more than sixty pounds, but I don’t feel that way. My only regret was not eating healthfully over the last decade. I am now a thirty-two-year old mother that just desperately wants to get back into her size six jeans she used to wear in college. I probably won’t wear them in public but I just want to say I can wear them again.
It is that thought that drives me to the gym at five o’clock in the morning or seven o’clock in the evening. It is the encouragement from my fellow gym rats that keeps my exhausted legs pumping on a bike that goes nowhere and offers no scenery but the woman walking in front of me on a treadmill. It’s the hope of a life beyond size eighteen pants and shopping in little boutiques instead of plus-sized chain stores for curvy women like me. But what started as a goal to lose weight has quickly turned into something a little more than I bargained for.
I never thought about the friendships I would make at the gym. I now know every girl who works behind the desk between four and nine in the morning. I am well acquainted with the personal trainer that put me on this diabolical workout plan and whenever he sees me at the gym we talk about his kids and wife or how much I’m suffering during my hour and a half workout as he smiles sinisterly. The same people come every morning and we all wave or nod a silent hello to one another as we choose our preferred method of torture.
There’s an older man with a nice smile but whose name I don’t know, that changes the television channel to CMT because he knows I like watching it. Another woman with bleached blond hair and a body that I would kill for works out on the elliptical machine next to me. She cracks me up every morning as she complains about cardio machines because she gets bored with it but needs it because she claims she has some fat on her that I have yet to see. I smile because I have no idea what to say since I see no fat peeking between her sports bra and spandex yoga pants. But I like her and her excessive bubbliness because she comments on how hard I’ve been working and swears I’ve lost weight even though the scale begs to differ. But I don’t tell her that. I just say ‘thank you’ as she takes off on another conversation with the nice man she comes in with every morning.
There’s another couple that doesn’t say anything to anyone but a few people. He is tall, muscular and formidable looking. His companion is pretty, shapely in all the right places and about as tall as he is. Another young woman comes over and talks with them and she is nearly perfect in every way. I comfort myself with the hopes this woman has probably never had children which is why her waist is maybe a size two and the implants are the reason her boobs are the right size and not sagging. I hope it’s not genetics because that would be unfair. I haven’t had the guts to make small talk with any of them yet. They remind me too much of high school, the jocks and the cheerleaders that made fun of me every chance they got.
The truth is that is the reason I didn’t want a gym membership at first. I was afraid that it would be filled with the Ken and Barbies of the world. I reverted back to the fears and trepidations of high school locker rooms. I had been the brunt of too many mean words and rude jokes to even attend my ten year reunion much less subject myself to the grown-up versions in the local gym.
What I didn’t account for were the nice, normal people I have met. Now we actually talk for a few minutes instead of the casual nod. I know some of their names and routines. I look forward to seeing them first thing in the morning. Their smiles and encouragement wake me up better than a hot cup of coffee. We are all there for different things: getting in shape, talking with friends, hobnobbing with each other; the same people at the same time on the same days. Kind of like a bar, only without drunk people and we have more energy due to the serotonin high. There’s camaraderie between us that I never counted on as we rub elbows and sweat together under the same roof.
This last week my family and I went out of town on vacation and I have to admit it was nice to get away from the gym at first. But as the days wound down and we prepared to leave for home I was surprised at how excited I was to workout with my friends again. I wondered if “Miss Perky’s” son has come home from the fire he was fighting a state away. I looked forward to seeing the desk girl again and asking how her vacation was. I thought of the older gentleman that always teases me and reminds me of my Papa when he was healthy.
Tomorrow is Tuesday and I’ll be back on my stair stepper/bike/elliptical program again, feeling very much like a hamster on a wheel. But I don’t dread the pain or ponder the future hope of fitting twelve-year-old jeans, I just think about seeing my friends, whose names I don’t remember but whose faces I think of fondly.