random thoughts – Day 1,481 – (Saturday) – delusions and time

This morning, after dicking around for three hours (pardon my French), I slipped into my unbranded black fleece pants which have seen better days and my recently acquired from the thrift store, slightly dingy at the cuffs white hoody imprinted with a pattern of roses in shades of tan and gray, laced up my blue and yellow Hush Puppy sneakers, and went to the gym. There was an age and stage of life where it would have been all the latest "cool" labels, but I mostly don't care anymore. (Hooray for being old and frugal!)

I was feeling a bit guilty over having not been there since last Saturday, and also for having spent three full hours doing nothing more than sitting on the couch in my pajamas while drinking coffee, reading emails, news, and social media, playing Wordle and Words with Friends, accidentally locking myself out of my online banking account (again), and hanging over the back of the couch to try and pet Kiki the recluse cat and hoping that maybe someday she will like me even just a little and allow us to transact at a distance closer than an arm's length away.

Mostly, I went to the gym so I could say I went. A secondary benefit was actually doing something while there, but accomplishing 30 minutes on the treadmill was not the main impetus. There was a sliver of motivation in the memory that last Saturday, as I walked into the gym, a handsome man held the door open for me. He had short gray hair, blue eyes, was a bit taller than me, and had on light blue shorts. I think. It’s been a whole week.

Last Saturday, at approximately a smidge before 9:44 am according to my check-in time on the app,  after passing through the magic portal to the planet of fitness and scanning the QR app code allowing entry, hot guy turned to the free weights and I went to the treadmills. After my 35-minute walking sentence, I went to the massage chair for the 10-minute reward. As I walked to my car, we caught each other’s gaze through the big window facing the parking lot, he inside, me outside. At least that is what I told myself. I definitely saw him, so half of that is true.

So this morning, yes, I may have used the idea of the hot guy from last week being at the gym again this week as an incentive to go. Except I didn’t go at the same time as last week, so that could be a factor. Whatever. At least I went, right?

In any event, there was nobody meeting the description of my memory from a week ago in attendance today. Trust me, I scanned the place from the treadmill, which afforded a pretty good view of most of the floor. There was, however, a much larger number of much older people and canes there today, which made me curious about the shift in demographics. Usually, I feel like I’m in the top 5% of the oldest people there, but today it seemed my ranking had slipped to barely the top 25%. I’m still processing my feelings about it. After that, I read the book I brought with me, which made the time pass more quickly, but not by much. I swear, the only time that doesn't fly by is the time on the treadmill. That half-hour sure felt a lot longer than the previous three hours.

While in the beloved massage chair after the treadmill (ten minutes that zip by in a blink), my mind wandered and entertained some fanciful thoughts. It occurred to me that on Sundays, I could go to the gym before dance class. All it would take is being ready and leaving the house just one hour earlier, then going to class directly from the gym. Easy. 

Of course, this idea is pure nonsense. It already requires a disproportionate level of effort to leave the house when I do. The logistics would be cumbersome. I wouldn’t want to go to the gym in my dance clothes, and I wouldn’t want to go to dance class in gym clothes. And yes, there are separate wardrobes for these activities. Mummu taught me about being properly attired for each of life's activities and events.

Further, I doubt I would want to be schlepping the extra clothes and shoes around, as I already pack civilian clothes (jeans and a normal top) to change into after dance, just in case I stop at Market Basket. It’s not like I’m 30 and energetic and bouncing from my suit and pumps-clad buttoned-up corporate finance job directly into the lycra-clad gym ensemble then into jeans and boots for photography class followed by Ralph’s Diner. The days of having a car that looked like a closet and possessing that much energy (and caffeine) are long gone, relegated to being a head shaking “how did I pull that off for so many years?” mind-boggling mystery for me to look back on in these delightful late middle-aged bordering on elderly years.

At the edge of the parking lot.

By the time I hit the car, parked at the edge of the lot overlooking the tiny pond? bog? swamp? drainage hole? it was pretty clear that the odds of me leaving an hour earlier than my carefully constructed Sunday routine are about equal to the odds of buying a remote tropical island and forming my own government. Since last fall, I could also have been going to the gym after dance class, because most weeks, I drive past the Planet Fitness in Townsend. This has never once happened. (See issues noted above.) 

It was a fun little massage chair fantasy while it lasted. I can’t wait to see what delusions I dream up (and destroy) next.