now I'm forced to look for a new gym

My unlikely career as a gym goer (athlete? gym rat? what's the proper name?) is still going. It's somewhat of a miracle. 

Personal trainer Sue showed me the equipment, gave me a chart showing what my heart rate should be on different machines and sent me on my way. She told me, "Try to get your heart up to about 165bpm. You should start slowing down when you feel like you're about to pass out." Good recommendation, Sue.

I missed a few weeks during Aunt Camp and Joanna's visit but last week I got down to business. I prefer going to the gym when it's mostly elderly people using the machines. I don't feel as much pressure to perform or act like I know what I'm doing when the lady using the machine before me is 73 years old. On my first day back we went late afternoon when all the muscle men and show off teen boys were working out. It was less than ideal but the only other option was to go running and I wanted no part of that. It least I can do the chest fly or hip flexor while sitting. Try not to be too impressed with my dedication. Sue was nowhere to be found so after a quick consultation with Christopher about which machine do what, I tried not to attract any attention waltzed myself over and sat down. I'm not even going to attempt to tell you which machine it was. I never remember the names. I just look at the picture on the side and hope for the best. I did a few neck stretches (I had to do something so I didn't look like an idiot sitting there), turned on my podcast, put the weight at 35lbs (the lowest the machine goes) and started pushing. 

Things were going fine until I wanted to turn up my podcast. I kept turning it up over and over but I still couldn't hear it any better. Then I realized my headphones weren't plugged in. LOUD AND CLEAR across the quiet room blared my podcast. "Moms are often uncomfortable with their bathing suit body after having a baby." And just like that the ENTIRE gym knew why I was there. Old man across the way wrinkled his face. Muscle Man Mike sitting next to me paused and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I immediately began planning my funeral.

I went slinking over to another machine and who was on the other side? Muscle Man Mike lifting 573lbs. He looked at me. I looked at him. He adjusted his ear phones. I did a few neck stretches. MMM shook his tree trunk arms. I accidentally let go of the cable too fast and the weights crashed down on the stack. 

That's when I died. 

The obituary will say "She died of humiliation at her local YMCA. Muscle Man Mike was paid to be her pallbearer. He carried the coffin with one hand and his beloved heavy weights in the other."