Believe it or not, my new enthusiasm for eating better (aka less) and working out more was not really prompted by the guilty resolutions made on the first, nor was it from the fact that being married just for 6 months has already started to make me soft, it was Planet Earth.
Because I work from home, it's easy to get distracted as I madly type away each day. So I keep Planet Earth running in the background so that I don't get too stir crazy, even though it means that I have to hide behind my laptop anytime a predator actually catches its prey. The only exceptions are the dolphins. I always root for them.
But watching about all these animals who don't eat for months at a time because they're hibernating and such made me realize that typing for 8 hours a day while lounging in my blankets is probably not too different from the hibernation of the Polar bears in their ice cave, (we rarely turn our heat on) yet I feel the need to eat 3-5 meals a day.
Since any of my plans to eat less usually involve me yelling at myself like Liz Lemon before she goes to a party where she doesn't know a lot of people, I decided to up the ante on how often I drag myself out of our house. Or even out of the TV room. So I signed myself up for this triathlon.
This is how I found myself at the BYU gym in the Smith Fieldhouse.
As soon as I walked in I couldn't believe how out of place I felt. Not because some of the machines absolutely mystify me, (I have a rule that if I can't figure them out by walking by them then they're not worth my time) but because the whole situation felt like a middle school dance.
All the girls seemed to be clumped together and trying to look cooler than they actually felt, and the boys were kind of wandering around hoping that they weren't the shortest ones there.
I was trying to do everything I could to make sure people could see my ring, not because I was worried anyone would be picking up on me, (if you saw how much my entire head sweats when I work out then you would know that I wasn't worried about that) but for the same reason I wanted to wear my 2002 EFY shirt or get my degree tattooed on my forehead: to show people I'm old!
Listening to the girls on the ellipticals to my left recap their first semester of freshman year just made me so happy to be done with that phase of my life. Don't get me wrong--I LOVED freshman year. Probably too much. I met three of my best friends that year (one of them I now share my bed with), I never cared about when I went to sleep, classes were more about meeting people than learning things, and don't even get me started on the glories of Dining Plus, but all good things must come to an end.
And as the girls next to me were constantly looking over their shoulder to make sure guys noticed how well their Nikes matched their gym shorts I just wanted to lean over and tell them that they were both getting sweaty butt cracks.
But it wasn't just the girls either, there were guys there in Sperrys and V-necks with more mousse in their hair than I've cumulatively used in my lifetime. And if they weren't hipster boys on the treadmill they were muscle-men that looked around the entire gym after finishing a set as if expecting a round of applause.
I suppose this phase of life is just like anything else that comes and goes; as soon as you're not wearing butterfly clips and jeans with holes in them you start wondering why you ever did in the first place. Can't wait for 5 years from now when I think I'm an idiot for ever writing this post.