In which I join the gym

So, I joined the gym, which meant I had to do an orientation on the cardio and weight machines.

Which have changed since I used them in high school. There is a keypad and display on each machine. It tells me how high to set the seat or arms or legs, what my weight-lifting target is, it counts my lifts for me, and it clucks at me if I lift too fast to be effective.

Albus did my orientation. Nice guy, older than me, very kind. I was ridiculously self-conscious about the weight-lifting. I didn't know how anything worked, I didn't know how hard to work, and I was very worried about my back and knees. I was embarrassed that on any arm machine, I'm pushing or pulling only 15 pounds. Good grief, most babies I pick up must weigh more than 15 pounds. The bags of groceries I carry in from the car must weigh more than 15 pounds.

Albus had some really good pointers that came out in conversation. That made me wonder about hiring a personal trainer.

Then Cedric took over on the orientation. Cedric was a twenty-something, an ex-football player I'd guess from his build. So suddenly I was old and fat and stupid. Where Albus cautioned me about not overdoing it, Cedric was perplexed why I wouldn't just do as much as I could. He reminded me of myself in college.

I've been to the gym an handful of times since then. Because of Albus I felt like I could do it. Because of Cedric, I got braver and upped the weight load on about half the routines.

I haven't lost any fat, but I'm becoming aware of my own body again. Whether I'm standing up straight. Where my limbs are.

I will say this: exercising does take an amazing lot of time. On the days I lift weights, the excursion to the gym is more than 90 minutes. Not the lifestyle of a working mother. But I'm going to see where it leads.