“Good God, woman, where have you been?” he cried furiously.
A morbid lunacy overtook her. She smiled fiercely and held up the bag.
“Shopping. Want to see what I bought?”
– Lois McMaster Bujold
My wallet is now under permanent lock-down. Because of going to That Show, I bought this and this (the latter for my sister-in-law’s upcoming wedding), but unfortunately not this because it did not look at all good on a less-than-five-foot woman. I looked a frilly mess.
Then, the other day, Venice called me (from two doors down in her flat) and said I had to come over right now. I obligingly threw on some basketball shorts and scampered on over only to behold this.
“Where did you get that?!” I screeched in excitement.
“From that place we hate,” she triumphed.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. For $87.00!”
“I NEED THAT!”
The next step was to get J. to agree. I pitched it as the perfect solution to this problem, which has been exacerbated since getting married as the only time I really get to see my husband is the time I used to go to the gym. I pinky-promised my way through the usual litany of bargains (to use it everyday, not to be a little grump when he reminds me that I haven’t worked out that day, etc.) and expounded its virtues (it’s cheap, it’s nice and small – C. sized! – it’s light, and it’s portable for future moves).
If anything else, the sheer guilt that would come from having that sitting in my house (staring at me) will motivate me to use it. It’s easy to ignore the gym when it’s not sitting in your living room! So, with J.’s consent, I bought it.
I really think this could be a solution to my exercise problem. After coming home from work in the evening to feed this guy, coupled with the desire to enjoy this, and the lack of desire to drive back to campus to deal with this, the idea that I could work out in my own home sounds pretty darn good.
What do you think of this plan, darlings?
**And by the way, if I start talking about buying anything else in the near future, jump me, steal and hide my wallet, and under no circumstances return it to me.
After two months out of commission, I am back at the gym with Venice. And I mean it this time. Why? Because Ven has imposed the mother of all weight loss incentives: no shopping until we hit our target weights. 
We also stocked up on cookies and banana bread so I have a new found reason to recommit to the gym. Gym psychology is fickle. I spent six months busting my bum five days a week, and then six days doing wedding and honeymoon stuff and poof! My gym motivation evaporated. Forcing myself there everyday has been a horrid, horrid chore. Eating all my delicious (or maybe not so delicious, but if it isn’t don’t tell me!) food seems much easier than working it off!
My latest bone to pick with mornings is my workout schedule. J. and I have started working out together, but on weight lifting days the only time we can seem to manage is early mornings, other times are just too crowded at the gym. Today was the first attempt at the new time. I HATE it. There were about three other girls, all with their respective boyfriends like me, who had to navigate the rows of testosterone soaked equipment with our dinky little 5 and 10 lbs weights while these Hulk-wannabes hefted my entire body weight in each arm for arm curls. Every once and a while some guy let out a roar that sounded suspiciously like he was giving birth, and most spent an inordinate amount of time checking themselves out in the mirrors. If I hadn’t been so cranky/clueless I’d have thought it was hilarious. Unfortunately nothing is funny that early, not even to me.
Small Dog Syndrome 