Wednesday, November 11, 2009

You know they'll call me Chicken Lady...

There's a great gym directly across the street from my office. It's affiliated with the university and my school ID serves as my membership and it's open from before we wake up until well into the evening.

It's perfect. Except for one pesky thing: it's staffed and largely populated by **shudder** students.

I've been wanting to get into a workout routine. I'm exhausted, out of shape, unhappy with both of those, and generally just need this for me. But getting up early enough to work out and still get ready for work and get Katie to school on time (8:15) is just not feasible. As soon as I get out of bed Jorge wakes up and insists on getting dressed and having breakfast and the whole thing pretty much dies in the water right there. By the time I get home most nights it's 7 PM and I'm lucky to give the kids bedtime kisses and then eat dinner. After that the prospect of changing into anything but pajamas is a tough sell; not to mention the actual workout, a shower, and then a re-shower in the morning to fix the wreck my hair dried into.

But if I can work out at the gym... Well, I can sleep in a touch later in the morning or spend more time with the kids having an enjoyable breakfast rather than shouting a distracted conversation to them at the kitchen table while I do my hair in the bathroom and drink my coffee. Then I could drop Katie off wearing my workout/warm-up clothes and then head to the gym. After a nice 20-30 minute work out I could use the gym facilities to shower and get ready for the day, walk across the street, and still be in my office by 9 each day. Sounds pretty ideal, right?


1. Hauling all the various odds and ends that go into making me look professional. I'm pretty low-maintenance, really, but at the minimum as the winter hits this will mean a few items of makeup, a hair dryer (none at the gym, I checked) and comb, a towel, shower shoes, deodorant, perfume, soap, shampoo, conditioner, wash cloth/scrubbie, and man alive I'm already tired.

2. Oh geez, more for #1, really. A professional outfit which doesn't really work with the "shove something in a gym bag" concept, shoes, and all the appropriate socks and other bits. And jewelry.

3. Students. Gah. This may come as a surprise to exactly none of you, but I'm not an elegant exerciser. While I dream of sprinting gracefully along with a serene look on my face, I am more likely to be gasping for air and trying not to puke after 1/2 a mile of moderate jogging. I'm also--shhh!---clumsy. The kind of girl that could fall off a treadmill. It's true. And I tend to work rather hard at maintaining anything that resembles a professional image. These two things are not compatible.

I'll just eat a bowl of ice cream while I debate this.

**Melissa, that title is just for you.


  1. Ah, chicken lady. I remember her well. Just don't become Foot Peeler Lady.

    Seriously though, you're talking about going to work out in the 8 o'clock hour? There will not be many students afoot.

  2. That's my only saving argument for trying it. Especially on M/W when 1/2 of my current students are in a required 8-9:20 class. The other half don't start their day until 12:45 and are highly unlikely to be at this gym at that hour. This one is on campus and is not the most convenient from most of the dorms/houses/apartments and most of the hard-core morning exercisers are (a) out running or (b) going to the bigger gym which has even better facilities or (c) probably not the slacker students who I most want to avoid.

    Students tend to hit this one between classes or at the end of the day so it's mostly empty until at least noon.

    I'm trying it this morning. I have a bag BURSTING with work clothes & boots and such; towels, shower necessities, makeup, comb, hairdryer, water bottle, and shower shoes. Between that giant bag and my two school bags full of office stuff I'm feeling a bit pack mule-ish.

  3. Ah, I remember the days. Like having to dry my socks with the industrial hair dryers because I forgot them. Or that time a bra mysteriously disappeared between car and locker.

    Good times.