not sure if it's the thrill of victory, or that other thing about agony

I knew I was in trouble when I walked into the room, and no one said 'hello'. There were some glances over the shoulder, but no warmth imparted, despite the high temperatures. So, I did what I usually do when faced with an awkward social setting - I scanned the walls for something to read. I don't know how many times I reread the fitness schedule before I heard a particularly buff woman make some off-handed comment about what kind of woman works in a bar, because, sure it is fine for men, blah, blah, blah. And I would have went over and volunteered that I am just that kind of woman except she scared me. I could snap her with my mighty sitting on her move, being a big bar kind of woman, but did I mention the muscles? She was spared, this once, my Free to Be Me speech.

I'm an equal opportunity kind of gal.

The free commentary was the least of my worries. I have been working out with my good friend, Jen, over the past few weeks and while she is off in the wilderness, I decided that I should try one of the group exercise classes. I need lots of incentives to exercise. Like a friend. Like walking far, far away from my house. I figure unless I am hit by a car or picked up by Shrek, I have to make my way home again.

Or group exercise.

If you haven't been following along, I have an autoimmune disease that took me out of the sweaty gym arena for a time. I like to think of this as my triumphant return.

(It looks a lot like whimpering.)

We were instructed to put several steps into rows and to grab a band and two sets of weights. I grew nervous at the mention of 'steps' because I hate step aerobics and the pain they inflict on my knees. But I stayed. Out of shame.

Soon we are running and doing jumping jacks and I take a gander over at Ms. Buff Misogyny, who is chewing gum and wait - did she just blow a bubble mid-workout? Holy crap, she isn't even sweating. I knew I didn't pick a fight with her for a reason. She's a fembot. And I'm a peaceful sissy.

I survived the class, even with the running and lunges, fearful that another 'bot might run me down. (Fembots travel in packs.) I only glanced at the clock every 5 minutes and considered leaving mid knee lift slash curl. But I made it.

Now if only I could get up these stairs and go to bed. Where's my hubby when I need him?

Maybe I'll just lay here and practice my moaning...

fembots feminism gyms exercise suburbia bartending fights

edited to add: Much to My Sjogren has been updated too.