Goals

Well, since it's a new year, I suppose that I need to come up with some resolutions and evaluate my goals from the previous year. Since getting taller isn't possible, I think a goal of getting thinner will be on the agenda, along with the usual cadre of reading my Bible more/speaking more kindly/being a better wife and mother/not killing my houseplants/retaining some semblance of sanity resolution.

One of my goals from last year was to be able to run a mile by Christmas, and I was shocked, thrilled, and completely elated to discover that I hit 1.5 miles two weeks before Christmas. I went from nearly passing out at .2 miles (please notice the point) to being able to manage 1.5 without having a hernia.

(Yes, I realize that most of you could walk faster than I run my mile +, but this is a terrific achievement for me, and for once, I'm going to be happy about it.)

Dare I write it? My goal for this year is to be able to do a 5K.

Ack. What am I thinking? That's impossible! We short, low-center-of-gravity stocky Hawaiians were NOT made for running. (Hence the fact that Hawaiians come from an island. A small island. An island that can't be much larger than 5 miles around. No need to run. After all, I've already stated before about "Hawaiian Time".)

Anyway, I have a gym membership in the Frigid North, and while I've been holidaying down here in the Sunny South, I've been taking advantage of my parent's gym.

Taking advantage is a major understatement.

This gym has a smoothie bar. I think I'd get a membership just for that reason alone.

They sell food there. Yummy food. The kind of food that makes you feel smug, superior, and totally zen.

The exercise area is made almost entirely of glass, so it's airy and open. There's none of that claustrophobic, "high-school locker room" feeling - or smell. Nope. This place smells like chlorine and money.

Most of the people who attend this gym look sleek and sophisticated. They all look like models. They should be out eating noodles, not exercising. I'm glad my gym at home is mainly attended by elderly German women who are more round than tall and totally devoid of modesty.

I mean, really, who fixes their hair just to work out and get all sweaty? These people leave the gym looking better than I do after I've gotten dressed up. Very demoralizing.

At least my dad doesn't bother with all that.

There's a beautiful pool, which I forgot to take a picture of, along with a jacuzzi. My son just loves the jacuzzi. I think he imagines it's some giant pot of soup for dinosaurs.

There's a steam room. Trust me, it's there under all that steam. I know, because my Mum talked me into trying it, and I felt like I was drowning. The showers are gorgeous, and there's even this really cool spinner thing that wrings all the water out of your wet swim suit. Heaven forbid that you should be forced to wring out the water with your own hands (gasp)!The sauna was more too my liking. I like to paint my nails while I'm at the gym (you know, apply a coat of polish, run for 10 minutes while they dry, and repeat.) Imagine how fast my nails would dry in this place! Of course, due to the high temperatures in there, my fingernails might spontaneously explode or catch on fire . . . might have to re-think that idea . . .

I've been working out almost every day, and yesterday my dad talked me into attending a body jam class (a choreographed dance/workout routine) with him. At first I was rather leery of the idea, since making a complete idiot out of myself in front of a room full of coordinated and slim women isn't my idea of "fun".

After awhile, though, I got the hang of most of the moves, and it really was fun. I have to commend the instructor. It takes a very, very secure man to swing his hips and thighs the way he did. He could cha-cha and shimmy with the best of them, and he didn't really have any hips to start with. Very interesting. We'll just leave it at that . . .

Ahhhh, what a nice gym! I tell you, with all these great amenities, I'm in heaven.Well, actually right now I'm in pain.