Well, I’ve done it. I’ve actually signed myself in at the torture chamber, aka the gym. My oldest daughter assisted me by signing us both up online so they couldn’t talk us into more than we were willing to commit to. For this I am grateful. It goes against all that I am to pay for access to a chamber of horrors, but thanks to her savvy shopping skills we are only locked in to a two month deal.
Today, less than 24 hours after stuffing ourselves with massive amounts of Thanksgiving dinner we ventured over to the 24 hour humiliation mill to check it out. We wore our street clothes so no one would mistake us for participants and force us onto some masochistic machine. Neither one of us was ready for that today.
Inside the door a twenty-something hard bodied young man (yahoo!) took the receipts we’d printed out and sent us on our way. The place was hopping I must say. I tried to block out the fact that only one person besides myself appeared to be over the age of consent, directing my attention to the amenities instead.
No medieval dungeon has anything on this place. The Prince of Darkness must smile every time another innocent strolls through the tinted glass doors into his parlor. People who have no need of physical torture strained and sweated on the machinery, watching football and soundless news on oversized television screens. I instantly wondered what I had gotten myself into. These people were sweating!
I don’t sweat. I don’t run. I don’t stretch, unless it’s to reach the hidden stash of chocolate on the top shelf. I plead temporary insanity and beg my daughter to let me out of my commitment. “What did I ever do to you?” I ask. Nothing I say sways her to my way of thinking, not even the generous bribe I slip into her purse as we tour the locker room.
On the way home I remind daughter number one that I am more than twice her age, but she keeps up an endless stream of encouragement that I should find endearing. I tune her out, knowing full well that before we leave the place following our first workout, she will be telling anyone within hearing distance that she’s never seen me before.
I just hope she drives around back where I will be waiting for her to pick me up. It’s a long walk home.