Oh. My. Bod.

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State of the art televisioned equipment, fresh towels, a eucalyptus steam room, juice bar, a variety of sweet classes including “LET’S DANCE!”, and hunky Israeli dudes sweating all over the place. When considering my gymming options, Holmes Place was the obvious, most logical choice and I have never regretted my decision to join up as going has always been a win-win situation. If I go before work I get a short yet satisfying pant on the treadmill or elliptical to jump start my day, and if I go after it’s almost like going on holiday because I get to avoid having to socialize with most people I see on a way too frequent basis.

I can’t say, unfortunately, that I’ve taken advantage of all the fabulous amenities available at HolmeSweetHolmes such as ‘the variety of sweet classes including “LET’S DANCE!”‘ but let me just brief on the time I decided to join the 30 minute totally abs workout sesh. It was probably the second or third time I had gone to the gym and I had been talking casually to one of the trainer’s about some of my goals and he suggested attending an ab workout that would be starting soon. Having nothing better to do than try out one of the gymillion amazing machines, I decided to go since using

just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I headed over to the class which was taking place on an average mat lined floor space. The class was quite full but as luck would have it for this here first time classer, I saw a vacant mat to occupy and slapped on my best ab aficionado mug. A few minutes before class was to commence a slight agitation amongst some of my fellow abbers began to develop but all that was being said had been Hebrewized, therefore hindering completely any chance of being “in the know”. I sat there wishing I possessed a Mandarax or English-Hebrew dictionary to translate all the going ons but the only thing I could read was body language. Confused looks, shrugs. Such are used in many languages and they were nothing to be threatened by. Moments passed but the issue(s) had not been resolved so the instructor began orating in an across-the-room level voice toward my general direction. Now if you have ever heard Hebrew on a louder than one-on-one conversation level, it sounds like angry with a side accusation. Don’t be surprised if you are ever made to feel like you have just killed a close relative of the person who you are exchanging communications with. I scanned my peripherals to see if he was addressing someone near me or if it was, in fact, me. I didn’t say anything but the girl sitting next to me responded to the instructor, and the instructor then began to talk in English. Looking at me, he asked if what I was sitting on was my mat. Well, of course it was my mat. I was… sitting on it, wasn’t I? I responded with a polite “yes,” of course, but he proceeded to question me – was that my mat, did I place the towel on the mat, etc. All of a sudden it occurred to me that I had *unknowingly* claimed someone else’s mat and became quite embarrassed. At that point I’m pretty sure half the class lol’d at my futz up and half the class put on a hex on me (I can read eye language). There were other mats though!, apparently, so I got up to get one but of course the ONLY empty floor space was not actually on designated floor space–it was in the middle of the most pedestrianed path in the gym that connected the east and west wings. Already intent on ~workin on my fitness~ I just sprawled out to do my thing but probably looked like a totally ridiculous awkward worm (awkworm?) just trying to watch the instructor teach foreign moves in foreign tongue. Maybe I am just uncoordinated (okay, yes) or maybe it was the fact that my plastic mat kept sliding on the plastic floor (silly me, why hadn’t I thought about strapping rollerblades to my back in the first place?). I found myself in all these awkward breakneck-like positions wondering if I had joined an abs or decapitation how-to class. ~Fun tymz~!

Anyway, I’ve lately been thinking about using with a trainer (srs bsns) who has been working with a few people I know. The other night I told Arron I was interested in working with him. He asked my stats, told me to stand up and not even a minute later said he had a plan. He would be able to help. And the first line of action would be to drop 10 kilos (WHAT?!) and work really hard (o rly?). From what I gathered, his plan is to turn me into one big muscle. I will be RIP’d (I actually wouldn’t be shocked if I died during the process to hot body-dom. Cause of death: absolute bodyrock shock). Not only will I have six pack abs (oh hayyy, looks like i’m 1/6 of the way there), I will probably have a six pack face. And I will be as chiseled as a Greek God (I hesitate to say Goddess because somewhere along the way I am likely to turn into a man).

All that being said, I promptly went home and decided to try my hand at Vegan Pumpkin Pie Brownie. And if you were looking for me that night but couldn’t find me, I was probably powwowing in the corner by myself, moaning and groaning with chocolate smeared all over a lazy smile and my hands knuckle deep in pumpkin goo.

Left to my own devices who knows if I will ever live a day past 40.

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