Today will go down in Tomboy Femme history as an auspicious event. Today, for the first time in years, I visited a gym.
Okay, so it was only my apartment complex’s gym, with two treadmills, two ellipticals, a recumbent bike, free weights and one of those multi-use machine thingies—to use the scientific term, obviously—crammed into a space about the size of my living room.
But who cares? It was a gym, and my ass got up on that elliptical and sweated bullets—slugs, really—for twenty minutes straight. Yeah, it was no marathon but I was moving, I was sweating, I was breathing deep and I was… feeling good.
Don’t tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation to maintain.
I really did surprise myself. I expected to be able to tolerate it, but I was definitely not expecting the word “enjoy” to enter my head at any time relating to this event. But once my muscles got loosened up and my breath was flowing nice ‘n’ easy in my lungs, the likes of Jet and Saliva blaring in my ears, I actually kinda liked what I was doing.
I guess that’s a good thing, since that probably means I’ll actually, ya know, go back.
So here’s to getting (and staying) healthy, and not hating the process in the meantime.