I misplaced my waist
I may have left it on the tennis court.
Haven’t seen it for many years due to depression, melancholy, low serotonin levels, a sluggish metabolism, too much red wine, too many bad carbohydrates, President’s Choice Bingo Cherry Ice Cream, not enough exercise, apathy, Costco beef tenderloin, feeling sorry for myself, plantar fasciitis, rotator cuff injuries, tennis elbow, no money.
And the fact I have boobs that weigh six hundred pounds. Each.
Eating, drinking, inertia, old age, bad feet, genetics,
Pick one. Pick something from each category.
They are all to blame.
So about three months ago, I made a decision to start working out, as many of you know. I tried the treadmill but my foot kept blowing up. I tried the stairmaster; I kept falling off it because I have inner ear issues.
I looked at aquafit and thought, hmm, maybe. The gymnasty does have a women’s only pool. So I went looking for a bathing suit, and let me tell you, the experience was tear-inducing. If the bottom fit, the top was too small. If the top fit, the bottom was like the bottom part of a Gladiator outfit worn by Kirstie Alley. I tried all manner of two pieces and they just looked ugly. So no swimming for me until my bottom matches my top — and that would require surgery.
I have become a hermit over the years thanks to general anxiety disorder, so classes are a no go. Everytime I’m in a room with more than two people, the adrenaline starts shooting out my ears and the top of my head blows off. That means no yoga, hot or cold, no spinning, no weird class with elastics. The only place for me was the gym and the only place in the gym for me was either with the exercise bike or the rowing machine. So I tried them both.
The bike is nice because you can just sit there and watch television. I go for Regis and Kelly, myself. The Food Network is definitely off limits. So is Ellen DeGeneris because she’s so damned funny, I would have to wear Depends to work out.
I do a half hour on the bike, then sidle up to the rowing machine, and don my wonderful IPod shuffle, which is a little clipon gadget filled with my favorite tunes by Neil Young, Blue Rodeo and the soundtracks from two of my favorite movies, I Am Sam (Beatles tunes) and August Rush (Van Morrison, classical, rock and gospel).
Just as an aside, is everyone in agreement with me on the Beatles? I cannot stand to listen to Beatles songs sung by the Flab Four anymore, but absolutely adore classic Be-ul tunes sung by other people. Just a comment.
Anyway, I strap myself into the rower and spend a half hour each day looking out the massive picture window at The Athletic Club, watching the activitiy on Industrial Avenue. Once, at the gas station, an ambulance took away an old lady. Another time, a man took his Husky up on a really high pile of dirt and the Husky tried to get down while the man stood on top. The Husky was lucky he wasn’t strangled. Yet another time, I watched a mother duck and her tiny ducklings walk across the parking lot. They looked like they had missplaced their SUV.
The rowing machine, in combination with Rose’s greatest hits on the IPod, has changed my life.
All of this to say, this week I found my waist after ten years.
It was under my boobs.