Growing Up (Is Hard to Do)

After weeks of unsuccessfully searching for a roommate (I was basically going on dates with women from Craigslist every night for the past month), I've decided to get a place on my own. I found an adorable little studio in a (very different part of town), and fell in love with the idea of living alone. For the first time in about four years, Boo and I are going to live above ground. I can (continue to) leave dishes in the sink for over 24 hours and also not wear clothes whenever I want. (My roommate and I are very comfortable with each other, apparently.) I'm pumped.

But, before I finally decided to take the studio, I did some serious thinking about how my life would change. And, after making a budget and list of pros and cons, I realized that the thing I was most anxious about was having to leave my gym. In fact, the thought of it made me literally cry. And then it hit me -- to date, my longest and most successful relationship has been that with Healthworks.

And by working out, I mean laying on a mat looking at the ceiling.

If you told me when I was younger that my biggest anxiety would be leaving a gym, I would have said, "Bitch, you cray." (I probably wouldn't have said that because I don't think 'cray' was a slang term back then). But fitness has become such a huge part of my life. Not that I'm super athletic or anything (I duck when balls come toward me*), but exercise is part of my daily routine. It makes me feel so good. And Healthworks is the most incredible place to do it.

I joined Healthworks about four years ago at the height of my dieting craze -- that time when I was eating 60 calorie lunches and having serious panic attacks when a friend would ask me to go out to dinner at a restaurant that had nothing "healthy" on the menu. I've come a long way since then. I can honestly say I've never been happier with myself or my body, which is pretty cool.

)

Ultimately, I realized my relationship with food and my body wasn't healthy and, more importantly, it was interfering with my life. I didn't want to be afraid of food anymore. Or afraid of socializing. I remember being at a Bruins game, freezing my tits off, and my friend suggesting we get some hot chocolate to warm up. All I could think about was how many calories would be in that cup. This was an enlightening moment. I looked at my friend and said, "I don't want to live in a world where I'm not allowed to have a fucking hot chocolate."  Of course, I was the only one not allowing myself hot chocolate. So I made a conscious decision to change.  And though I wouldn't say Healthworks caused this positive change, it definitely supported it.

Healthworks has a great environment -  "Girl Power" is written all over the walls, basically. And yes, it's totally expensive, but the equipment, and the towels, and the whirlpool, and the free tampons make it worthwhile. (Note: I have not bought tampons in 4 years. Don't tell anyone I said that.) This is starting to sound like an ad. The point is, I feel comfortable there. It's a place I actually enjoy going to every day. It's a place that taught me to focus on fitness over just burning calories. I can't bear the thought of leaving it for some POS gym that bribes you with free pizza on Tuesdays (which actually makes people feel worse about themselves, by the way).

So, I'm not going to. I decided I'm going to try to make a long distance relationship work, even if it's inconvenient and expensive. Because that is what love is about, you guys - sacrifice! Or something. I'm really growing up right now.

On that note, deciding to live in a studio was the biggest, most adult decision I've ever made on my own. I kept telling the realtor he was watching me "become a woman". He told me I would need to provide my new management company with a picture of my cat, and I nearly shouted, "Oh, don't worry, I have hundreds of them!" Dude must have been like, "This chick in the cat shirt with the cat pictures moving into a studio is doomed."

Seriously, though, dying alone.

*puns!

No Boys Allowed

I go to an all women's gym, and I love it, I really do (insert lesbian joke here; you know you want to). It has everything -- brand new equipment, a sauna, free tampons, the works! It really is worth the astronomical price I pay each month to go there. 


The only thing is that the women there are always naked in the locker room. Always naked. Shamelessly naked. All the time. Now, don't get all excited, boys. These women are generally old and/or saggy and/or hairy -- not your fantasy. And, oddly enough, not mine either. 


Don't get me wrong, I don't really care about seeing naked people or being naked myself. In fact, it takes way too much effort to try to undress/dress discretely than it does to just get naked in the locker room. I get it. And I do it too. But what I don't understand is the lingering nakedness that is rampant at my gym. Like, why do you have to take off all of your clothes on one side of the locker room to walk all the way to the other side of the locker room naked just to weigh yourself naked? Why? You could wear your underwear. They amount to about 2 ounces; you can just subtract that shit off of your weight if you're that worried about it. Or, you could weigh yourself at home, in all your naked glory, alone in your bathroom. There's some shit I don't want to see, and it's most likely yours. 

Look how happy she is weighing herself with clothes on.

I've also had to witness women literally blow drying their bush in the vanity area. There I am, just trying to put on my make up while fully-clothed, and I have to stand next to this travesty. It's disconcerting, to say the least. 

Basically, many of the women at my gym seem to forget that the locker room is not their personal bathroom and that they have to share the space with others. They flail their naked bodies all about. They spread their shit EVERYWHERE so that you can't possibly use the bench to do things like sit. They're just rude, plain and simple. The other day, some bitch yelled at me for using perfume because it's quote, "not allowed." First of all, I didn't even use perfume; and, second of all, if I can't use perfume in the locker room then you can't blow dry your pubes there either. I think that's only fair.

Namaste, or whatever.

Last night, I went to my second yoga class. It was much better than my first yoga class, which was simply terrifying.

Yoga cat.

For one thing, my first yoga class involved a lot of moaning. Not just like loud breathing, which apparently is common in any yoga class, but like full-on moaning. Is this normal? I didn't think so.


Also, since I took it at a gym, I was surrounded by mirrors. This was unpleasant as I never really want to see myself contorting my body into uncompromising positions. 


But the worst part was at the end of class when we laid under Mexican blankets and took a 15 minute nap. There I was, on a Friday night at the gym, trying to get a good work out in before the weekend, and I'm taking a fucking nap. I was not relaxed. Instead, I was panicking about how much longer it would last, how lazy I was beginning to feel, and how much I had to do after class. I realize this is the exact opposite of how I was supposed to feel. 


Last night, however, I did actually feel relaxed. And despite the heavy breathing, I was not as uncomfortable with my surroundings as I was the first time around. Perhaps this was because I was at an actual yoga studio or because there were no Mexican blankets. But, either way, don't expect me to become a "yogi" any time soon. I can't afford that shit.