A few weeks ago, I started the couch to 10K program again.
I try to run a few mornings before work, when I'm at my best. (I will NEVER come home and exercise, it's just not in my DNA. I have always been a morning gym person.)
It's been crisp and cold in the mornings, which is my favorite weather in which to run. I tend to leave the house before 6am, drive down to where I work (and miss all the traffic because it's so early!), park at my office, exercise, the hop back into my car and drive 5 minutes up the road to the gym to shower and get ready. When I'm finished, I'm a quick traffic-free ride to work.
The only problem with this plan is that I don't get to see #maxmars in the mornings, which is really tough.
Anyway, I'm not really "friends" with anyone at the gym, so I'm the last person who makes small talk in the locker room. Most of the time I'm trying to make myself invisible. I tend to put my head down and mind my business.
In my years at this gym, I have run into QUITE the characters.
There was the woman who sprayed aerosol deodorant in her crotch.
The older lady who refused to ever have clothing on, and who would PROP HER FOOT UP ON THE BENCH while naked so that she could moisturize ever nook and cranny in her body. (You can't unsee that.)
And who could forget the well-endowed young lady who used to blow dry her hair wearing nothing but a thong and a parka.
So the other day I was minding my own business, blowdrying my hair, when I looked up into the mirror in front of me. I could see a woman behind me walking around in her birthday suit. She stopped at the scale (directly in my line of vision in the mirror, btw) and hopped on.
How women can pretend it's no big deal they're naked is beyond me. But there was this woman, naked as the day she was born, standing on a scale, all of her...skin...everywhere. It was...she was...let's just say I wanted to call my waxing lady for her.
She looked up and caught my eye in the mirror and I looked away embarrassed. She was a train wreck and I couldn't look away. She didn't care, she was probably proud. I could have sworn I saw her do a little shoulder shimmy in my direction.
After weighing herself she disappeared (where I could only hope she was putting on some clothing), when she emerged again. This time she was wearing a flesh-colored bra (which was ill-fitting and hadn't see its underwire since the Carter administration) big white panties (in fact, the term 'Granny Panties' actually refers to this lady's unmentionables), beige knee socks and black loafers.
Knee socks and black loafers.
This was wrong on so many levels, but most importantly: who puts shoes and socks on before they put their pants on???
She trudged into the hair drying area and proceeded to pick up a blow dryer – threadbare bra, knee socks, and all – and started to dry her hair like it was nothing.
I was shell-shocked for the rest of the morning.
I don't care if you're comfortable in your skin, love who you are, blah blah blah. I'M not comfortable with who you are! So please, don't unleash anything in my presence.
Cover yourself up, ladies!
This has been a public service announcement.