Rebellion.

I got a gym membership last Monday. And after reaching my threshold of sloth this past weekend, I decided to use it. HealthWorks came highly recommended to me- it's a women’s only gym, which is supposed to take away the pressure. Uh huh, and being surrounded by perfectly toned twentysomethings really helps to do that. I would have been better of joining Gold’s or some other pumphouse- at least there’s no point of comparision. Too late to back out, I hopped on a treadmill. Just as I started to get into it I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“I was in line for this machine.”

I looked around and saw at least 7 eligible treadmills. “Ok. What’s wrong with that one?” I pointed at the one directly to my right. I mean, come on. “I’m signed up for THAT one.” She pointed right back at mine. I now understand why people resort to violence. If I’d had a weapon in my possession at that moment, there’s no telling what I might have done to this bitch. I stopped the machine and stormed over to the trainer’s office. I grudgingly asked how I could sign up for a treadmill, and she started to go through her spiel of the various machines that the club had to offer.

“I don’t care, I just want to get back on a treadmill. Someone kicked me off of the one I was using.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Yea, you usually need to sign up.”

“Uh huh.” I had to stare up at the ceiling to keep tears from rolling down my cheeks. “Why couldn’t she have just used any other treadmill?”

“She could’ve.”

As I was visibly distraught, she went ahead and signed me up for 30 minutes, the maximum time allowed on the weekends. I got on the machine, and as it started moving faster and faster, the tears came flowing down. By the time the machine reached full speed I was sobbing. I cried for 11 minutes, and ran for 65. Because screw it. By the time I got off I couldn’t feel my legs, but I’d least I’d showed them. Though I sincerely doubt anyone was watching.