Today I was one of the only women using the weight machines at the University of Iowa gym. It’s a big place, but often dominated by male sweat and cut off t-shirts.
Ballet Boy has struggled for a few years with the concept of strutting in jazz walks. Taking class from girls doing sassy walks and female teachers hasn’t helped. He needs to tag along to the gym and pick up some swagger tips from these guys. What makes men try to make their shoulders look bigger than they are and swing their arms around like apes? I guess that male hormone does. It cracks me up to no end.
I’m pretty happy to be back doing some lifting, even if my arms feel like they got run over by a Mack truck right now. I love the definition and strength I get from doing my little upper-body routine. However, being slightly A.D.D., I get a little bored on the circuit.
So, today I got a little punchy and started giving the machines new names. They have little instructional labels with names like “Pec Fly” and “Glute.” Perhaps my mind is in the gutter, but I found some better names that make me smile as I workout.
On that note, I think I’ll go have a glass of wine. I promise to keep t thinking of silly things at the gym, because you know that you can’t just focus on breaking your own PR’s on the bike or dreadmill all the time. You have to have a little fun…
*You may know vart as queef. I suggest urban dictionary if you are still clueless.