Category Archives: … at Becoming a Gym Rat

Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That (App)

Posted on Oct 4, 2012Written by Lindsay Scouras

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Are you looking for a way to realize that everything you’ve been putting into your body is grossly above the recommended daily intake for a healthy human being and leaves you  wondering why you haven’t had a heart attack or ballooned up to the size of a sumo wrestler?
Well lucky for you, there’s an app for that. 

I know, because I downloaded yesterday. And it’s taken over my life.
You all know that I don’t care much for exercise. I know, it’s good for you, but it also sucks and it’s boring and I hate it. Any time I work out I always think of at least 37 other things that I could be doing. But a few weeks ago when the iOS 6 update popped up on my iPhone, I took the opportunity to check out some new apps. I hadn’t downloaded any in forever and who knows what life changing little button was just waiting for me? 

Not too life changing though, because I only download the free ones. 99 cents is just too much to pay for convenience.

It was there I discovered the myfitnesspal app. I had heard of such maniacal things, as a few weeks ago my sister-in-law decided to start a cleanse and proceeded to eat her way through every leafy vegetable when we went out to dinner as I polished off an entire plate of pasta and a glass of “adult” pink lemonade. Every time she consumed something, she would immediately add it to her calorie counter. In the end she practically ended up asleep at the table because she only had 860 calories that day. 

I thought nothing of this little deviant of technology until I found the app and figured what the heck. Was I going on a diet? No, not exactly, but I had recently discovered because I finally went to an actual doctor that some pounds that weren’t there before had crept up on me. This tends to happen when you don’t exercise, don’t own a scale, and enjoyed shredded mozzarella cheese on occasion as a snack. I informed Steve that I was thinking about losing “some pounds,” because I wasn’t ready to commit to an actual number. 

I hear things about calories, but I’m still confused about what they are and whether they are good or bad and I certainly have no idea how many of them I’m actually eating on a daily basis. 

So yesterday I gave it a whirl. Upon signing on, I was asked to create a username and to upload a photo. This is fun, I thought. It’s like Facebook for food! Then they wanted to know my current weight and goal weight. I made up a number that I’m convinced a 5’3 woman is supposed to be, but what the hell do I know. Then I was asked for my activity level. I was shocked to find that my particular lifestyle was not even mentioned, as these were my options: 


I mean, there was no mention of a doll hair stylist. What gives?

Next, I had to determine my exercise goals:


Uh… is this a serious question? I feel like it’s too early in our relationship to start lying to myfitnesspal. I mean, after all, we are pals now. I chose twice a week because “once a month or on random days where I all of a sudden feel fat” was not one of the options. 

And finally, I had to determine a weight loss goal. This was a load of crap, because the highest amount you could select was two pounds per week. Two pounds?! If there’s anything I’ve learned from watching The Biggest Loser, it’s that a person can lose like 27 pounds a week when Jillian Michaels is screaming in their face. I chose one just because it seemed like the normal healthy choice for someone not on a weight loss competition reality show. So according to myfitnesspal, I should reach my goal by… November. Well that’s useless, because by then I’ll be chilling out in bulky sweaters.

Just for the sake of my health, I decided to take the calorie count into consideration. For me to reach my made up goal, I should only have 1230 a day. I didn’t know if that was high or low; I mean, it sounds like way less than what I heard Phelps eats but like, more than Jennifer Aniston. So I figured I’d be fine.

WRONG. I was so wrong. By 5:00 pm yesterday, I had consumed all of my calories for that day. ALL OF THEM. And by all, I mean I actually ate 193 more calories than I was supposed to. 

Determined to keep up with something for once in my life, I didn’t consume anything else that night. Well except for like five candy corn pumpkins, but I don’t think there’s even an option for that on the counter because everything is in “serving sizes.” Finally, at 12:09, I gave in and had an English muffin. I justified this because it was technically the next day. 

So I began today at like a 165 calorie deficit for the muffin. What a way to start the day, right?

But the weirdest thing happened. When I woke up, I actually felt like… I wanted to go the gym.

Yes. Voluntarily. Steve wasn’t even here to make me feel guilty about it. I just woke up and felt the urge to go to the gym. I don’t know what came over me. I guess this is what exercise guilt feels like. 

I actually ended my day today with 200 calories to spare. So I got to have wine. Victory.

In conclusion… myfitnesspal actually works. Because seeing those extra calories on your body apparently isn’t as frightening as seeing them recorded in app form. 

Download this immediately. You will lose weight but also gain shame. You’re welcome. 

~L

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat

But I Know… It’s My Own Damn Fault

Posted on May 7, 2012Written by Lindsay Scouras

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You know how when you’re busy, you make poor food decisions because you have to eat like you’ll never eat again? That was essentially my weekend. It’s also what I do every time I work a wedding or an event. I seriously represented every part of the food pyramid that is horrible for you. Yesterday I assisted with my first ever recital for my mother-in-law’s dance school. Since meals were confined to whatever you could shovel in your trap in between lining up tiny sequined dolls for their numbers, my meals consisted of:

-Frosted animal crackers
-A maple cinnamon granola bar
-A (couple) piece(s) of pepperoni bread
-A salami and cheese sandwich in a pita pocket (which at this point seemed healthy)
-A cheddar cheese stick

And that was just during the show. After it was over, I was given the task of picking up the mini sandwich platters for the after party. Which I promptly devoured two of before the guests even arrived because I wanted to beat the crowd. A handful of bread and butter pickles, three helpings of macaroni salad and a hefty slice of birthday cake later and my food coma set in. Did I mentioned that whilst consuming this food I enjoyed two mason jar margaritas and a birthday cake shot? I mean, it was Cinco de Mayo (good excuse as I’m clearly embracing my non-Mexican heritage) and my sister-in-law’s birthday.


this is how southerners celebrate their non spanish roots

Needless to say, today I was as bloated as that purple girl in Willy Wonka (I don’t actually know her name I’ve never seen it STOP JUDGING ME). It was as if the generous helpings of margarita salt had caused me to retain every ounce of liquid I had drank in the last three days. As much as I love my ‘ritas, feeling like a walking ad for a Jimmy Buffet restaurant is not a good look… or feel.

But did this cause me to go on a self induced hunger strike? Of course not! Because today I ate a chocolate frosted coffee roll (breakfast of champions), my Healthy Choice frozen meal for lunch, a mall pretzel, and half a big Kit Kat. I tried to balance this by drinking a Nalgene’s worth of water. I probably should have drank another, but I once read this story about a girl that freaked out on ecstasy at her 16th birthday or something, and in an effort to come off it, her friends force fed her water and she died because she flushed all of the sodium out if her body. This is clearly the same thing, so you can see why I’m afraid.


By the time I left work, I was literally feeling like crap. I definitely knew I should go to the gym. So I dressed  in my underused TJ Maxx workout duds and putzed around my apartment. After almost a half an hour, I decided it was time to get off my ass and be serious. So I of course spent 20 more minutes on Pinterest and updated my Spotify playlists. Then nausea set in. I knew it was my body rejecting me for treating it so horribly. My own anatomy was trying to break up with me, but like an endangered wife in a Lifetime movie, couldn’t bear to think of what life would be like without the abuse.

Or maybe it was the fact that I took a vitamin at 6:30 without food. Either way, every organ in my body was screaming at me to stop the violence. I texted Steve and begged him to make me a salad for dinner. But still, I needed to attempt some physical exertion today. So I went to the gym. I almost fell off the elliptical from the shakes, but I at least did 30 minutes which mentally made me feel a little better.

So why put this all out there on the Internet? Because like the closet intervention, I often don’t recognize how out of control I am until see it written down. Also I don’t like to just come out and tell my husband when I do dumb things, so I wait until he sees them on the Internet and questions me later. And of course, blogging is about being honest, and if I put it out there how horribly I’m treating myself, people will ask me about it and it kind of holds you accountable for your actions.


Consider this a cry for help from me to myself. I have to get it together. Whenever I talk about my lack of enthusiasm for exercise or my humorous binge snacking anecdotes, people always look at me disgusted and go “ugh. But you’re so skinny.” While I am on the petite side, I can feel myself ruining my body, and I’m only getting older. Before I know it, things are going to start slowing down and trying to move south. I’m not saying I’m going to turn into Jillian Michaels overnight, but I need to at least attempt to work in some healthier habits into my life. I’m not giving up macaroni and cheese. Definitely not. But maybe stop being a crazy secret shameful snacker all the time, every day.


So here’s to not eating an English muffin at 11:30 pm, going to the gym more than once a month, and avoiding food babies at all costs. And also regular babies. Gotta get my stamina up before I can even think about giving birth someday.


~L


Also, five points for you if you get the Margaritaville reference in title. I was going to do a play on “lost shaker of salt,” but I was worried that everyone would burst from excitement of thinking I had selected a set of salt and pepper shakers. Which I haven’t.

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat

He Be Up In the Gym, Just Working on His Fitness (Still Grunting)

Posted on Apr 11, 2012Written by Lindsay Scouras

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He’s baaaaaaaaaaaack.


To be fair, he probably never went anywhere. In fact, it was me who disappeared. I literally can’t remember the last time I went to the gym. If I had to guess, I can’t think of any occasion within the past month and half where I have even pretended like I am interested or care about my physical well-being. For some strange reason, I had a whim at 1:30 am last night (or I guess, this morning) that I should go to the gym today. I made the mistake of saying this aloud to Steve as we were falling asleep, and despite exhaustion he somehow remembered my promise this morning (but when I ask him during the day if he could just refill the Brita after he uses it last, you would have thought that I asked him to recite the Declaration of Independence. Scratch that, he would probably remember the words to that) at 7:30 am.

After much prodding, I finally awoke and pulled on one of my three sets of gym clothes, (which by the way live on the very highest shelf in my closest, obviously for a reason).

Steve: You can see your underwear through those pants.
Me: *inaudible mumble* meh, who cares?
Steve: Okay. Just wanted to go on record as having told you.

Finally, we make it out the door and soldiered on the long walk to the clubhouse. Okay, it’s not that long, but everything feels slower and longer before 8:00 am. And of course it’s like a freaking Gold’s Gym in there. Or what I imagine a Gold’s Gym looks like. And by that, I mean there’s three other people there, two of which are on the only machine I actually use. The third early rising gym-goer?


I almost forgot about my dear friend, as many moon cycles have passed since I last saw him, although Steve does tell me about him every time he makes a morning trip to the gym, to which I tell him he is a terrible husband because he refused to take a picture of him for me to share with my loyal readership (I’m talking about you, Mom). As Steve headed to his usual corner treadmill, I followed closely by him as I couldn’t even figure out what to do with myself since my trusty elliptical was occupied.

Me: Can you show me how to stretch?
Steve: You know the stretches. It’s not hard, just do the same ones we alway do.
Me: I can’t remember. I don’t know what to do.
Steve: Well, why don’t you use the bike? You might have to lower the seat.
Me: I don’t know how. Can you do it?
Steve: Are. you. serious.
Me: *dead in they eyes, still not a fully functioning awake adult* Yes, fix it.

So just as I was about the get on the bike, Steve informed me that in fact my one and only piece of equipment was suddenly available. I immediately woke up and hopped over to my trusty machine. I set up my water bottle and most recent Entertainment Weekly, determined to make the most out of the fact that I was here, possibly turning over a new leaf. Maybe. Okay, probably not.

I set my phone down and pulled my headphones out of my pocket. It was then I discovered that I grabbed Steve’s ear buds that came with his iPod, which clearly do not fit my tiny delicate earholes.

Me: *across the room* Uggggggggh.
Steve: What?
Me: I took your headphones. My life sucks.
Steve: Can’t you just use them?
Me: No. I have small ears.
Steve: *ignore*

I decided that this particular workout session was cursed. There was really no way it was going to go up from here, after all, I hadn’t even started actually exercising yet and I was off to a terrible start. The only thing that would save me now would be if I finally achieved one of my all time fitness goals:

To get a picture of the elusive WL Man.

Okay, so it’s not like an actual “fitness” goal, and I’m sure that Bob and Dolvett would encourage me to aim much higher, and you know, do something to actually help myself physically, but I have been trying to prove this man exists for months. What better time than with plenty of witnesses around to attempt to take a photo?

Let’s just say I’m not used to being “discreet” when it comes to taking pictures. I’m normally screaming at people, trying to get them to pay attention to me or not hide every time they see my giant camera. When I started my usual half hour elliptical cardio workout, he was behind me. I thought about using my reverse camera to take a picture behind me, but I thought it was even weirder to take a picture of myself in front of all those people than to continue my inadvertent stalking of this person that I don’t even know. Since he uses a lot of machines, he walked by me multiple times for antibacterial wipes to cleanse his circuit training machines. I figured that would be the best opportunity to attempt to capture a photo. Since I’m normally texting/taking notes for later blog posts at the gym anyway, I thought maybe it wouldn’t be suspicious if I was just tapping away at my phone. I made sure the sound was off so I wouldn’t get that little clicking noise and tried to hold my phone as low as possible. As he stood there, tearing wipes out of the dispenser, I bit the bullet and clicked the tiny camera icon on my iPhone.

And of course, the flash went off. Oops.

Turning off the flash is like, lesson #2 in Taking Sketchy Photos of People You Don’t Know 101. I should probably sign up for a class with those perverts that submit photos to Girls In Yoga Pants. I immediately began to fumble with my phone like I was an old person who “accidentally” took a picture when they were really trying to text or something.

Me: Ahhh omg what is going on… this is so weird *nervous laugh*… my phone… guess I need that update… *more word vomit*
Everyone else: *continues working out, ignores me completely*

Luckily for me, the four other people in the gym, including WL Man, continued about as if a crazy person wasn’t sniping mid-workout session photos while attempting to not fall off the elliptical machine.

I have to warn you: this is possibly the worst photo I have ever taken. But it’s sort of appropriate, as this man has become my own personal Bigfoot, which is exactly what he resembles in this picture. A large blurry figure that really could be anyone or anything. Except you must trust me when I say that it is in fact, him. I hope you’ve prepared yourself, because this is a moment many posts in the making. Without further adieu, I give you… WEIGHT LIFTING MAN!

yep, definitely the worst picture ever taken… in the gym

Okay, now that I’ve seen this, I guess it isn’t really all that exciting. I mean he looks like a normal guy, right?! Except you can now clearly see all of the things I’ve been describing to you all along. From the jeans to the shoes that clearly aren’t sneakers, the fleece jacket to the Under Armour skull cap, this is clearly not someone who belongs in a tiny clubhouse gym. I haven’t yet decided if he wears this outfit everyday or if he has followed Glamour’s advice to invest in multiple pieces of something that you really love. Unfortunately for you, you cannot hear the noises. If I survive this encounter, hopefully next time I can move up to capturing a voice recording.

Of course after the photo snafu, I feared for my life for the remainder of my workout. I tried to act normal, and cool, but since I don’t spend a lot of time exercising this proved to be really difficult for me. I thought I was doing okay until he approached me. Immediately I was like this is it. This is how I’m going to die. He is here to kill me. He just all of a sudden realized ten minutes after it happened that I had taken his photo and was going to broadcast it via the Internet for tens of people to see. You’d think that I would find solace in knowing that my husband was on the treadmill a mere 20 feet away, but he was so blissfully mesmerized by the NHL Network that I knew he would even notice if I did all of a sudden disappear. Just when I thought my life was about to end, he spoke.

WL Man: Can you move that? *pointing to my sweatshirt*
Me: *nervous fumbling wreck again* Oh, uh… yes of course! Tee hee, oh yeah, that’s my sweatshirt. Just needed a place to put it. Ha hahahahahaha…

I always place my sweatshirt on the machine next to me because no one is ever using it. Well, unless you know who is around because he uses ALL of the machines. I was so flustered that I immediately grabbed my purple Lululemon sweatshirt and threw it ON THE GROUND next to me, which he probably sweats on EVERY DAY.

I felt like my skin was burning the entire time he did presses or curls or whatever the hell people do on those machines. Not just because he was his usual lovely self, grunting, panting, sweating (you know, all the things that ladies love), but because I kept imagining that any second, he was going to jump out of his seat and pummel me into the ground. By the way, if there happen to be any men reading this, do yourself and the ladies a favor- if you are having a particularly strenuous workout, please just keep the noises to yourself. Nobody needs or wants to hear them. I don’t care if you feel like it helps. Unless you are like a crazy serious athlete training for the Olympics, there is no need to express yourself in that way when there are people around you. It’s gross and weird, and if I ever made those noises at work or walking down the street, people would grab their children and run and I would be committed. Because.it’s.weird. And if you are single and were hoping to meet someone at the gym, I can tell you right now that not one female I know has ever thought that a guy that makes those kind of noises in the gym is attractive, because if he’s making those kind of noises in public, just imagine the kind of sounds he reserves for when there’s no one else around.

Whoa. Sorry to get all political on you. That was my public service announcement. I’m done. But seriously, guys. Cut it out.

But wait, there is an addendum to this story. After the experience I had just had, combined with the fact I had to be at work, I hightailed it out of there so I could spramp myself in time to be on my way. Steve returned to our apartment about twenty minutes after I did, and informed me that I probably should have stayed at the gym. Turns out that after I left, WL Man and the other 2 people that were still there began discussing celebrities… Kim Kardashian… and Facebook. Those three are at the top of my list of things that are important to me, especially when it involves having discussions with other people. Had I misjudged? Were WL Man and I destined to be best friends due to our glaringly obvious common interests?!

No, I decided, almost immediately. There’s no way I could be friends with someone that wears the same outfit everyday.

~L

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat

I’m Gonna Make You Sweat

Posted on Dec 1, 2011Written by Lindsay Scouras

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As you may have noticed by my lack of posts in the “Work It Out” (shout out to anyone who got that Beyonce reference from the Austin Powers 3 soundtrack- represent) section of this blog, I have sort of fallen off the workout wagon. I’m about as far away from the wagon as you can get. In fact, I am probably under the wagon, getting run over by it as we speak.

I worked hard for a whole two weeks leading up to my friend Amy’s wedding. And by worked hard, I mean I went to the gym maybe 3 times a week for 14 days straight. It was a matter of life and death. Well, life and death a $200 bridesmaid dress that didn’t exactly fit. But I’m happy to say, after putting in the least amount of effort possible, I successfully was able to breathe in my dress and kept my husband from having a panic attack over the cost of alterations.

so honored to be a bridesmaid. & pretty excited about the whole breathing thing

I determined using a highly inaccurate $15 plastic scale from Wal-Mart that I lost 3 pounds. Ironically, I think that is also the same amount of wine I consumed that weekend (before you judge, it was at a winery) and needless to say, I haven’t been back to the gym since.

And then this happened:

which one of these is not like the other?

My (little) sister was in a pageant this weekend (2nd runner up, what what) and her body looked more amazing then I have ever seen her look before. So did the majority of the 37 other girls, who I had to watch strut in bathing suits and skintight evening gowns for 2 days straight. After being forced to sit there and stare at people in bikinis for that amount of time, you can’t help but want to crawl into a hole and die. Especially when some of them look like this:

yes, there were props.

Okay so it wasn’t exactly like that, but the girls were all accessorized in their bathing suits, and most of them were wearing body jewelry and feather wings. It was awesome and ridiculous at the same time.

To be fair, my sister had been working her ass off preparing this and doing a million things I would never want to do in a million years, like hot yoga and eating brown rice. I was also wearing a bulky sweater, cuffed boyfriend jeans, and flats. I couldn’t have looked more like a dowdy sister. Except I could, because I also didn’t wash my hair. So I had pretty much set myself up for failure.

The next morning, for some strange reason I had the urge to go to the gym. Weird. I asked my trainer/roommate/personal chef if he wanted to accompany me, to which he looked at my quizzically.

Steve: Did you only ask me to go to the gym because you saw all those girls in the pageant in their bathing suits?
Me: Uh, no. *insulted* Why do I need a reason? You’re always telling me I should go.
Steve: Okay, well you’ve never asked me before.
Me: *pause* I just… really want to go. I have an urge to exercise.
Steve: Yeah, okay.

So we get up bright and early before I have to work that day and go to the gym together. Isn’t that adorable?

BUT WAIT.

What could ruin this otherwise successful couple workout session?

That’s right. WEIGHT LIFTING MAN!

I had sent Steve to the office to commandeer the Christmas cards that the apartment people had been hiding from us for over a week. I was in there for all of 2 seconds by myself when he saunters in and starts furiously wiping the machine down…RIGHT.NEXT.T0.ME. He really gets into it, too. I can never get over how much time he spends sanitizing the four different machines he insists on using, when in my mind I’m convinced that he has never washed his workout jeans or his little hat.

I quickly texted Steve.

omg he’s here
and he’s going to use the machine right next to me
and he’s EXTRA loud today

It was nothing new, just the usual grunting, heavy breathing and flexing in front of the mirror. But it’s totally magnified when it’s like, on top of you and you’re trying to mind your own business and you’re worried about tiny beads of sweat jumping out of his fleece jacket and onto your Glamour “Women of the Year” issue that you look forward to all year long for inspiration to become a better person. The only difference that day was that Clingy Girlfriend was not in attendance. Maybe they’re working on their trust issues that I have concocted in an effort to explain their very unusual relationship. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, see link above.

Side note: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO TELL YOU THIS! Steve came running into the apartment one day after working out all excited. I thought he saw a puppy or something, but it was better: he walked into the gym, and standing in front of him was… wait for it…

Weight Lifting Man flexing while Clingy Girlfriend took pictures of him ON HER CAMERA PHONE! Steve walked right into their photo shoot without even realizing it.

Couldn’t you just die? I was so bitter- I mean, the one millionth time I don’t go to the gym, and this shows up?! My favorite part is that Steve is so into spotting WL Man now as well and he knows that it makes good blog fodder. He actually told me he almost texted me to put on my workout clothes and get down there ASAP so that I could see if for myself.

Okay, back to current WL Man sighting. The more time I spend with him, the more I am confused by his workout regimen. Clearly you know about his ensemble per previous entries. More recently I noticed that he never drinks water at all when he is exercising. Isn’t that bizarre?! I drink a full glass of ice water once I get up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I suck down bottles in the gym because I have a fear of perspiration. I mean, regardless of how you feel, that’s super unhealthy, right?! As a devoted viewer of The Biggest Loser for the past 17 seasons or however the hell long that show has been on, I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to observing a person’s exercise routine. And all I can say is, Bob Harper would most certainly not approve, and neither would Brita, who insists on reminding us 23 times an episode to buy their filters.

I now have a new personal gym goal. I am determined to get a picture of WL Man, because I don’t feel like my descriptions are even doing him justice. (You didn’t think I mean like, a fitness goal, did you?) I’m slightly scared though, because I’m not very stealth and what if he caught me and in a roid-induced rage he snapped me like a twig and I was never heard from again? I have to figure something out, because it’s something you just have to see.

Back to me. I did my usual 30 minutes on the elliptical at level 3. And no, I haven’t started thinking about maybe going up to level 4 yet. Don’t ask.

On the plus side, my half an hour flew by because I spent so much of the time making notes about WL Man on my iPhone.

I spared you a picture of my workout outfit, mainly because I was wearing unintentionally high waisted black stretchy pants and my XL Pinkerton Class of 2003 shirt, and it was not cute.

Also, this exercise experience happened on Monday. It’s Wednesday and I have not returned. And I’ve had 3 meals in the past 2 days that largely were comprised of cheese. I’m sure that will all change, because I am a visual person and am largely motivated by things I see rather than how I feel, and I’ve been saving the Victoria’s Secret holiday fashion show on DVR for such moments of weakness.

World Peace!

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat

I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Talking To Me

Posted on Oct 11, 2011Written by Lindsay Scouras

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I know what you’re thinking.


I swear I will not only be posting about my lame attempts at an exercise routine (maybe not so much a routine, just a general butt-shrinking in order to fit into my bridesmaid dress) for the rest of my blogging life. It just seems that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to stick to anything, and something about sharing via the Inter-web sort of makes me accountable for keeping up with it. Even if I am boring everyone senseless.

Don’t worry. We will get back to all the juicy stuff eventually.

So today I was determined to get back on the workout wagon. Since I have yet to create Lindsay’s Ultimate Calorie Burning Playlist, I was really counting on being able to watch hour 53 of the Kardashian wedding special. However for the past three weeks now ALL THREE REMOTES in the gym have been missing. MISSING! Like stuck on Court TV missing. I always bring a backup book or magazine in case other people have beat me to it and commandeered the TV and have it set on something stupid, but I really do not enjoy reading while exercising because I feel like my eyes are bouncing all over the place.

When I got the gym I saw that there was one lone woman walking on the treadmill. I was just grateful that it wasn’t A.) WL Man or B.) a super teeny fit skinny lady. However I was less enthralled when less than one minute after entering she stated “they really need to get an ab machine up in this place!”

I looked around, confused. No intro or anything, she just started talking to me like we were old pals halfway through an hour long convo. “Yeah,” I laughed nervously. “I guess that’s the only thing they don’t have.”

“I really need to do my ab workouts. I used to be in here all the time and I haven’t been lately and I’m trying to get back into it,” she continued.

“Uh-huh.” *Put headphones on get on elliptical*

“What do you think of the elliptical?” she asked.

“What?” *Is this seriously happening*

“Like do you think it works?” Wait, is she calling me fat? Like she’s implying the whole 3.5 hours I have spent slaving over that machine aren’t immediately visible to the common gym goer?

“Um, I don’t know. I’m really the wrong person to ask. I only do this because I hate running.”

I stupidly thought that I was in the clear after that. Headphones on, book open, didn’t matter- she kept going.

“Do you know how to work these thing?” she asked, pointing one of the three remotes that miraculously showed up at one TV and another one turned on instead.

This is the part where I pretended I couldn’t hear her. “Um, what?”

“I can’t get these things to work. Like I’m pointing at this one and that one turns on instead. What is going on?!”

“I have no idea. I don’t even know how to use those things because they are normally never here.” I glanced at her machine. 1:13 left. Thank God.

“Well this is just crazy. I don’t know what to do with these things,” she said. I glance again. 1:46 left. What, wtf?!

Somehow by the grace of God she finishes her workout and then begins the most thorough treadmill wipe down I have EVER SEEN. Like she was getting all up in every nook, cranny and appendage with that Purell wipe.

“Okay, I’m going to go now. Bye!”

“Um, bye.” I couldn’t even pretend I was going to wait for her to fully exit the building before I leaped off my machine, grabbed THE CORRECT REMOTE and switched over to E! the second that KK’s Fairytale Wedding Special Event Extravaganza began.

I did 30 minutes of cardio, on Level 3 (that one’s for you, Steve), ROLLING and 4 sets of 10 reps (that’s right, I have learned some gym vocab) on some sort of arm press thing. And then I came home and immediately stuffed my face with a pita pocket pizza. Don’t worry- it was whole wheat. And I only ate three handfuls of shredded mozzarella out of the bag. I am totally gaining self control over my binging. I’m in a much better place in my food consumption.

That and Steve saw me sneak it into the bedroom and decided to hide the bag from me.

Whatevs. I plan on waking up skinny tomorrow.

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat

That’s Right, Put In Work

Posted on Oct 10, 2011Written by Lindsay Scouras

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So after The Great Nike Acquisition it was time to put my money where my mouth was ($36 to be exact) and actually you know, use them. So on Friday morning, I awoke bright and early (otherwise known as 8:30 am) and forced myself to go to the gym.

After picking out my “First Day With New Sneakers” workout outfit and loading up my Lululemon aluminum water bottle (just using those words makes me feel more athletic) I headed over to the tiny gym in our apartment complex’s clubhouse. I was elated to find it empty, as one of the biggest things that has kept me from going to the gym in my lifetime is that I hate working out around people, specifically men, more specifically, sweaty gym men.

There are multiple reasons I feel ridiculous at the gym. In no particular order:
1. I can never quite figure out how to use any of the machines.
2. I am fearful of being judged on the amount (or lackthereof) of pounds I am lifting
3. I like to put all three tv’s on different crappy shows

Since I was alone, I felt the need to have photographic evidence that not only did I make it to the gym, but I coordinated my workout accessories with my new kicks!

sans makeup and sans shame. you’re welcome, internet

Side note: Huge bummer because ALL THE REMOTES WERE MISSING. Three TV’s and no remotes. It’s like I was being tested by a higher power. I cried a little. Gym=fail.

So even though my psycho trainer/husband was not there to push me past my usual limits, I voluntarily did 25 minutes on the elliptical at Level 3. Thank you, thank you. I would have done more, but due to the amount of time spent putting together said workout outfit I lost some of my actual workout time if I was going to get back and shower and get ready for work in time.

However, at the near end of my Level 3 rolling intervals, I started thinking about using one of the machines that does arm things. Okay, I know there’s a lot of those but I clearly don’t know what they are called so I’m just going to say it’s the one with the long bar that you pull down a bunch of times and you try not to let go of it so fast that it springs up and bangs against the machine. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.

And then I saw him. Walking over to the gym with his odd girlfriend in tow like he was going to own that place. I panicked as I glanced at the time left on my machine- one minute of rolling and a two minute cool down left?! I’d never get off the elliptical in time to stake a claim on that machine. And sure enough, less than a minute later, I was face-to-face with him- Weight Lifting Man.

In case you don’t know, WL Man is a particular breed of man gym rat that only works out his upper body. Now I know virtually nothing about exercise or anatomy, but I’m 99% positive that it’s not really that healthy to do absolutely no cardio and pump iron EVERY DAY.

Our specific WL Man is a rather odd character, at least to me. We have never spoken, but I’ve completely made up a back story about him that is completely unfounded. He comes into the gym everyday around 9:30 wearing jeans, black almost like crappy dress shoes, a black fleece jacket, a weight lifting belt and weird little gloves. Top it all of with a black Under Armor skull cap and you have yourself a hell of a looker.

Needless to say, WL Man is enormous on top and relatively small on the bottom. Every time I see him, I literally have to stop myself from going up to him and asking him why he only works out his arms because I’m so dumbfounded as to why a normal person would want to look so unbalanced on purpose.

The main thing that is annoying about this breed of gym rat is that he uses 3 or 4 machines at a time for what I’m told is “circuit training.” Now I think something like this would fly in a large gym that you actually pay for, but in a tiny clubhouse gym the size of my living room, you’re taking up a quarter of the equipment that no one else is allowed to use. Not that I would ever ask, because I clearly don’t know how to use any of those things and I’m afraid that he would like, bark at me or something. Again, this I am assuming because I have never heard his voice.

And of course a man like this can’t work out in silence, so there is a fair amount of grunting that comes from trying to lift/press double his body weight. Of all the things I dislike about gyms, that has to be the absolute worst. I could spend my entire life studying men’s brains and will still never comprehend the need to grunt while doing things, especially in front of people, like I don’t know… women?! And I’m sorry- I’m not saying that I am by any means worthy of being stared at in the gym (see exhibit A above) but when there is a man behind me that I can’t see and I’m sweating and elliptical-ing and he is grunting and making other odd noises, I cannot help but get freaked out.

If that wasn’t odd enough, he also has a girlfriend/wife/significant other who comes to the gym with him BUT NEVER WORKS OUT. That’s right- she sits on one of the machines (something with round thing that goes on top of your legs that you push up… I don’t know it’s the best I can do) and either reads or plays on her phone. It’s not like she’s his personal trainer as they exchange no words the entire time. It just makes no sense to me, and I probably end up burning more calories in my brain trying to examine their relationship than I do actually exercising with my body. The story I’ve concocted thus far is that they’ve had a tumultuous relationship but are trying to move past previous issues, however, WL Man still does not trust her and therefore makes her go with him EVERYWHERE so he can keep an eye on her. The more I see them, more details are added to this story in my head, so stay tuned for further developments.

I figured once I saw WL Man I knew my workout was pretty much done. I hopped off that elliptical, wiped down my machine and hightailed it out of there, with the slam of the door behind me silencing his all too familiar grunts.

So basically all I got out of this was 25 minutes of mild cardio and the realization that I absolutely cannot go back to the place until I make a new “Workout Playlist.” I mean I almost didn’t go because I didn’t feel I had an adequate upbeat track list to provide the soundtrack to my physical transformation. But it was a lot for me, because I forced myself to go when I didn’t want to and could have stayed in bed and no one’s life would have been better or worse because of it (well, except for mine). So yay, me. A tiny, baby, minuscule step, but still- something.

But that was Friday. And I haven’t made it back yet… and I ate fettuccine today… for lunch. And dinner. And I binged ALL DAY on Saturday and drank very sugary girly mixed drinks in honor of bachelorette whose bridesmaid dress I would like to fit into someday, otherwise known as less than 2 weeks from now.

But hey, tomorrow’s another day.

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat

Pumped Up Kicks

Posted on Oct 7, 2011Written by Lindsay Scouras

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This all started because of a bridesmaid dress.

A bridesmaid dress, that I purchased willingly in a size smaller than what the consultant recommended because I am a woman and therefore am defined by my dress size. For some unknown reason, bridal designers want you to feel like crap when buying the most expensive garment you will ever wear (for the shortest span of time) and their sizes run notoriously small. I don’t know why they don’t trade with Banana Republic, because I know I would much rather pay more to feel skinny than to pay less for my clearance chinos that for some reason I can fit into a size 0.

Anyway, the minute I tried on that dress I knew breathing would be difficult. After an exhausting battle with a zipper for ten minutes that I eventually won, I found myself being strangled by a dress that I had dropped a sizeable chunk of change on. I knew this wouldn’t do, especially for an 8 hour day of standing, posing, dancing and more importantly, drinking.

Needless to say, Steve has been pressuring me to adopt an exercise routine ever since. Now, many women would be like “giiiiiiirl I wouldn’t let no man tell me I was fat,” but that’s not what this is about. Steve is a practical man (i.e. cheap) and his worst nightmare would probably be me telling that I can’t fit into a dress that I paid that much money for. So for him it’s an investment, really.

So finally, I gave in and went to the gym with him. There are plenty of couples that I know that run or hike or other athletic things together that I have virtually no interest in. I am not one of them. I just about died when he put me on the rolling setting on Level 3 on the elliptical, because anyone that knows me knows that I am strictly a Level 1 girl. Now I am a notorious workout starter, and I’ve been on the elliptical Level 1 probably once every two weeks since I’ve lived at my apartment, and this was the first time I ever sweat. Ick. If you know me you also know I am not a sweater, as I barely exert enough energy to create even a droplet of moisture.

As usual, I vowed to go to the gym at least 3 times a week. I wasn’t looking to drastically alter my body, but just being able to breathe in the dress would be a welcome change. As a naturally smaller person, I figured if I started any amount of regular exercise I could at least slim down a few inches.

But again I quickly fell off the wagon. I went 2 days in a row, and then skipped 5. Even with said dress hanging in my bedroom, I just never felt the motivation to put on my workout clothes and make the long trip across the street. Okay, fine it’s not really a street. It’s more of a half of a crosswalk… 20 feet out the door. Happy?!

And then I had an epiphany. Maybe the reason I wasn’t athletically inspired was because of my heinous white and lime green sneakers. Not only were they heavy, but they didn’t match any of the cute workout clothes I purchased the last time I promised myself I would become a gym rat. Technically they weren’t beat up or anything, despite the fact that they were 4 years old, because they hadn’t seen enough action to warrant a scratch or fade. But still! How could I be expect to glide swiftly on Level 3 with ugly heavy sneakers weighing me down?!

I decided that a new pair of kicks would be best way to get me back into the working out on a regular basis. If I had something cute that I was excited to wear, I would probably look forward to hitting the gym. To further illustrate my point, a few weeks ago I borrowed Alisa’s sneakers when I stupidly forgot mine on a day where I would be working outside all day in a tent… in the rain. She presented me with her hot pink Nike Shocks, which immediately transformed me into an athletic goddess, at least in my own head.

When a Bob’s coupon arrived in the mail for 20% off all footwear INCLUDING clearance, I took it as a sign from the shoe gods, whom I worship very seriously. With a looming expiration date, I knew I needed to act fast.

I hit up my local Bob’s after work, and let me tell you, that place has got to be one of my least favorite places on earth. Almost every item of clothing they carry is hideous other than New England sports paraphernalia and athletic wear. I mean, when was the last time you found yourself jonesing for the latest fashions from YMI Jeanswear or Unionbay? I made a beeline for sneakers and tried to put up my blinders to avoid the sheer amount of overly thick fleece pajama pants adorned with frogs (I swear I did not make that up).

I was at a slight disadvantage from the get go as my money conscious husband begged me to spend no more that $50. Why is that, you ask?

Reason 1: I didn’t care what kind of sneakers they were, I just knew I wanted them to be pink. Apparently this is not the criteria in which athletic shoes should be judged.

Reason 2: Every workout item I have purchased has been used for maximum 10 hours. See previous workout clothes comment.

Reason 3 (and this seems to be the response I hear on a day to day basis for everything): We are poor, don’t spend any money.

Well, for someone who knows nothing about exercise, I know that even Skechers aren’t that cheap and that I had my work cut out for me. But I love a bargain challenge, so I quickly got to work scanning the racks. Steve claimed that all the “girly” sneakers would be more expensive. Unfortunately he was totally right and even totally white boring pairs with a splash of pink were in the $70-$90 range.

Onto clearance. Sometimes I make out like a bandit in clearance shoe sections because I have abnormally large feet for a small person. Apparently they are not abnormal enough, because every fun pair I found was in the size 10-11 section.

It was then that I realized how horribly unprepared I was for this whole charade. I came from work, so I was wearing flats, i.e., no socks. I have long feet, so those Peds are basically useless to me, but I put them on for the sake of cleanliness because let’s be real, this is Bob’s we’re talking about. If my feet were not awkward enough I also have special inserts for flat footed people that I got FROM A PODIATRIST that I am technically supposed to wear all the time but I never do because they don’t fit in any of my shoes because I always forget to bring them when I try on shoes. Needless to say those weren’t kicking around in my purse that day.

The first pair I tried on were black Avia’s with pink accents. I was 90% positive that these shoes were crap because they were a whopping $24.95 and I have never in my life heard of the brand Avia. They were just eh.

The next pair I tried were white Reebok EasyTones with red accents. Not quite pink, but red is actually my favorite color and I remembered the shoes from the commercials with all the girl’s butts and thought that I maybe my butt would have a chance to be like them one day. Slight problem? They are crazy hard to walk in. Imagine being forced to walk everywhere all the time on a balance beam. I guess those butts don’t come easy. Considering I can barely make it up the stairs without falling at least twice, I imagined I be in the ER after 10 minutes in these things on the elliptical. Goodbye, future tiny bum.

This particular Bob’s offered hardly a bench to sit on, so every time I found a pair I was remotely interested in, I ended up plunking all my crap down on the floor and lacing up on the dirty gray carpet. Jesus, what I won’t do for a sale.

However, it was on the floor that I found them- a pair of charcoal gray Nikes (which at this point, sounded like Versace to me after being surrounded by all the unrecognizable brands of crap) with a HOT PINK swoosh and other accents, size 9 ½. I never would have found them if I hadn’t been sitting on the floor, because they were on the bottom shelf of the size 11 section. I’m not a particularly religious person, but when I find a hidden deal I literally feel like it’s fate and that some other-worldly being was keeping them special just for me. I tried them on, and it seemed like they fit, but due to the Peds, I was skeptical. I usually border between a 9 and a 9 ½, so I figured that the little extra room would be plenty of space for my socks. Who wears thick socks to work out anyway?

I figured this was the part where I was supposed to put them on and run around the store to make sure they really fit. This is where the Hallelujah chorus withdrew and I was thrown back to reality, as my beloved Nikes were tied together. That’s right, about 7 pairs of clearance sneakers were tied together and my pair was one of them. Not one to back down from a challenge, I proceeded to run around the rack with one shoe on at a time, with the attached mate whacking into me every time I lifted my foot. I still wasn’t sure these were the correct pair for me, but who can ever be sure when they’re forced to only wear one shoe at a time?! At that moment I knew that I was done. I would have to trust the shoe gods that they had delivered to me the pair that I was meant to have.

Oh, and how much were they, you ask?! $36.99 with my coupon, a mere three hours before it expired! Suck on that, Bob’s!

sweet deal!

I left the store content, not only for my bargain but because I was getting the hell out of that place.

On the way home, my post-bargain high began to wear off as I realized that now I would actually have to you know, use them. While exercising. In the gym.

But that’s another day.

Freedom!

Published under: ... at Becoming a Gym Rat