My mother discovered the gym last month, and she has been gung ho ever since. She turned 51 in January, and claims she's "not going down without a fight"...which is a good attitude to have.
At any rate, she likes to go to the gym when she gets off work, and she likes to drag me with her.
There are two types of people in this world: those who love to work out, and those who despise it. I guess I would put myself in the latter category. Not because I'm a couch slug, but rather because getting dressed and going to a gym to sit on a bike doesn't really appeal to me. I'm more of a get-out-and-go-stuff person. Walking in the park, playing volleyball...I'm all for it.
Mom loves to go to the gym. She says it makes her feel energized after she spends an hour on the treadmill. She's one of those people.
So yesterday, and the day before, I went to the gym with Mom. She likes to spend the majority of her time on the treadmill. I start out on the bike, then do some weights, then finish off on the elliptical machine. I got a little overzealous with the weights, and now my arms are so sore, I can't hardly lift them over my head. I have a friend who has offered to give me a massage for my sore muscles, but whenever we make a plan, paying clients always come before freebies...so there is a downside to having a friend who his a massage therapist. I offered to pay, but he usually refuses.
Today, I am just blathering. It's wet and cold outside. I'm inside in my warm new pajamas that Kant's mom made while I was in Atlanta. Tonight, Mom and some of her coworkers are going to "Girls Night Out"...which roughly translates to Happy Hour somewhere. I have an open invite. Also, Paul was going to call to see if I was needed to go help paint a room. The plans for my Thursday night hinges on if he calls or not.
Paul is known to flake out on me, so it could be safely assumed that I will be serving as my mother's designated driver tonight.