I don’t know about you guys, but I hate working out. I exercise for one reason and one reason alone: I like to eat bread and drink wine and I need to do something to balance it out so my ass won’t get any fatter than it already is. Of course I’m always glad after exercising, but every single time I walk down the long corridor to the treadmill I feel like I am an inmate making my way to the electric chair.
The process of getting ready and leaving to go to the gym, as with everything in my life, is chaotic and rushed. My checklist before leaving is:
Double sports bra – so my boobs don’t flop in every direction: check.
Deodorant – so I don’t smell like a NYC cab driver: check.
Hair tie – so I don’t have to constantly brush my Medusa hair with 3” dark roots out of my eyes and mouth: check.
Pretty simple, bare necessities, that’s all you need right? WRONG! I must have missed the section of the registration form where dress code was outlined that all women that walk into the gym must have a perfect matching workout outfit, wedding makeup and perfectly styled pageant hair. There is only one logical explanation for the way the women who attend my gym look. Bravo must be filming a new reality show: Treadmills and Tiaras.
It’s not that I don’t completely care about how I look, but if I don’t do my hair and makeup everyday for my husband, I sure as hell am not going to get all gussied up before I go to a place where my goal is to sweat. I just don’t see anything wrong with the fact that my work out apparel consists of my husband’s hand me down white (ok, white-ish) Hanes undershirts and my one pair of black Adidas running pants that I got on sale at Kohl’s. Do I do my hair before I go to the gym? I’m not even going to dignify that question with an answer. And makeup? Puh-leeze, who wants to be all Picasso face-y when they are working out?
I think part of what bothers me about these women is the fact that they manage to have perfect bodies without actually working out. If you saw one of these women sashaying on the treadmill for 30 minutes, you’d swear she exerted more energy that morning teasing her hair. I don’t know how they do it, but they never sweat. There is not even a demure girly “glow” going on. Is “sweat gland plugging” some trendy new plastic surgery that I don’t know about? By far the worst part is the showgirl-inspired workout attire. Like it’s not bad enough these Barbie-wannabes put the rest of us real women to shame with their photo shoot hair and their model makeup, but do they REALLY need to flaunt their “assets” by wearing just a slutty sports bra and booty shorts. Wake up ladies, this isn’t the fitness center at the Playboy Mansion. Oh, and FYI, no matter how fit you are, having your ass cheeks hang out while you are “exercising” screams attention-seeking-hoe and is probably the quickest way to get your tires slashed by another woman.
I am evolved enough to know that some of my feelings about these women probably stems from insecurity, feelings of inadequacy, blah, blah, blah. I am not evolved enough to refrain from bitching about it on my blog. Ok, next time I see one of these girls I guess I could try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe behind the caked on makeup and slutty workout attire there is a perfectly nice, sweet woman that if I didn’t judge might even be a potential friend. Maybe… I just really hope she
slips doesn’t slip on the rust colored puddle that formed from her spray tan dripping off onto the floor.