Goodness knows I can't tell you about the unholy thoughts I have while I'm at the gym. First off, I'd have to admit that I go to the gym and that's a really, really big secret. I thought about getting a gym membership mostly so I could be one of those people who can go on facebook at six AM and state: "Just got back from the gym! Now I'm all sweaty!! And I think I'll make some coffee!!! I think I'll put cream in my coffee!!!!!"
I wanted the chance to be that person who posts stuff that no one at all in any world cares about, and I especially want to use way too many exclamation points. Like I'm creating a virtual giddy schoolgirl on her fourth RockStar With Vodka or something.
So, say I did write anything that I may have thought while being at the gym (although it's not public knowledge that I've ever gone to said gym) and say the particular thought in question went something like:
"GEEZ! IS THAT GUY GOING COMMANDO?!"
Well, clearly I just can't go ahead and say something like that. I'd be putting myself at risk of being accosted on Main Street, somewhere near the thrift shop by a woman I've never met before who will accuse me of looking at her husband's.....
and then anyone within earshot will find out that I've been going to the gym.
I can't even write about being on Main Street, because I generally have a gaggle of a million plus two children trailing before and behind me. If I identify myself as that woman, there will be an outcry on Niverville Buy, Sell, and Trade about who is that evil woman who takes children for walks on Main Street. They are sure to assume that I am Eye Drop Lady. Or, I Really Need A Coffee or a Walk Lady. Goodness knows I can't have the Real Housewives of Niverville on my bad side. I just don't got that kind of strength.
Plus I've pretty much blown my chances of writing about the thrift shop, now that I'm a board member. Conflict of interests, I suppose. Or maybe more like- darnit, I've spent time on the inside and I kind of understand these people a little better now, and they're pretty darned hardworking. Twould be a shame to offend them....
I suppose I could write about really fascinating things like recipes. But I'm pretty sure you don't need a tutorial on how to microwave weiners.
Weird how that made me think of chin ups and the rowing machine, the skipping rope and kettle bells. Oh, and running- just for warm-up. If I ever did write about the gym, it might be to dwell on another question: Do all the 40+ women wear attends?? So, if I was a gym rat, I could probably run for a little while. I'd be the one wearing $7.00 cropped legging Wal-Mart hand-me-downs with absolutely no lemony accents. And I'd be pounding the pavement, feeling not-too-bad that I could sort of run.
I'd also be the one who didn't get let in on the "Party In Your Pants" protective briefs memo. Apparently you have to earn your right to be in that club.
So I may or may not have peed my pants. That aren't pants at all, but skin tight royal blue, you're-not-kidding-anyone, that's-your-ass handmedowns. And since the warm up run is at the beginning of the workout, there's still the whole part about- go back inside where the lights are on and do all manner of unnatural movements that will clearly showcase that tiny little issue of STRESS INCONTINENCE.
So you can see why I just can't write any more.
Not until I get my life entirely straightened out and I can be a Good Example or something.
Or until I move to a new town and don't have to worry about anyone tracking me down.
Or I learn to stand on my head at the gym and lift fourteen pianos with my pinkie and climb up a rope with my teeth, all in proper lulu's.
It might take me a little while. It sure would be nice to be back.