Snap Fitness

Tonight Brock and I went to the gym together for the first time in weeks. First he was sick, then it was my turn. Most times I go by myself anyway because run alone with my headphones. I don't like company in the gym. I run rogue.

Lately I've felt really shitty, coughing up green stuff, so the thought of picking up a weight tonight was daunting. It was even harder to do. Instead of using my usual 12 pound weights to do lateral raises, I selected the 7s. It must be said I'm not a tiny, wimpy person, but these were tiny, wimpy weights. I saw my reflection in the wall of mirrors and felt sheepish--it looked as if I were about to work out my fingers with these baby dumbbells. I felt like one of those really fat girls who do bicep curls with 3 pounds because, hey, she doesn't want to get bulky. Yeah. That's what it felt like.

Across the room Brock was laughing at me and shaking his head. So I marched right up to him and said I would never, ever go to the gym with him again. And don't he dare laugh at me. And who did he think he was, anyway?

After I did my 7s and presses and bent-over rows I realized what a dipshit I'd been. Those weights were too light. And I did look kinda silly holding them. Like so many other times in life, I'd gotten really upset about something I realized was ridiculous about thirty seconds later and had to live with the shame of it.

So as soon as we were finished working out I apologized immediately and profusely with stupid excuses in attempts to make Brock laugh: it was my broken headphones that put me in a mood, it was hearing Katy Perry over the loudspeakers spliced with Jay-Z in my earplugs, it was my congested chest, it was PMS! In short, "I'm sorry I snapped."

Brock just flared his nostrils and said, "I know this place is called Snap Fitness, but geez, you don't have to take it so literally."

After five years together I've turned my husband into almost as big a dork as I am. Pretty proud of that.