This Is What Happened When I Joined The Gym

I always join gyms and when I join I always want to cry about how much I suck at life and weight. The emotions are right on the surface when it comes to my weight, my pant size, my flabby gut. But even I didn't realize how close to the surface these emotions were or how little it would take to get me to full-blown-meltdown-stage.

Most people that join gyms know that when you join, there is always some sales guy asking you to buy a personal training package and they always give you a free session. But, did you guys know there is a form you have to fill out and that if you fill out the form honestly and then turn it in that someone else knows all your secrets about your pant size and your flabby gut? I mean, I know that human beings have eyes and that they can use them to actually see it for themselves, but if you write all that stuff down, there it is on paper and it's, like, a fact. In fact, it's a shameful fact that now many people's eyes can see. It's like documentation of sucking at everything about yourself.

So, the really nice guy at the gym very nonchalantly gives me this form and says, "Ok, fill out the front of this form while I grab another paper real quick. I'll be right back." Seriously. He said that. Like, here's this form. Write down your dark secrets and then I'll come read all about it while you watch in horror. I mean, by the end of this story, he totally got what he deserved.

So, he said that and this is what happened. I read about two lines before I lost my shit and my forehead hit the table in front of me and I started Phase 1 of a Three Part Hissy Fit. I started crying, very silently and not too noticeably, but the dead give away was my head on the table when he came back. He walks up to me at a normal pace and I can see his shoes as my eyes are looking down and darting around and trying to stop the flow of tears dripping directly down from my open eyeball and onto the floor. And his shoes start to slow down and he says in a very concerned voice, "Uh....um....what..um...what happened?", he said.

"Well, this form is asking me to write down my weight and my age and all that and then it talks about measurements and I AM NOT DOING MEASUREMENTS AND NO ONE ELSE IS DOING MEASUREMENTS FOR ME AND I HATE MYSELF AND I SUCK AT EVERYTHING AND I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW MY PERCENTAGE OF BODY FAT OR MY LEAN MUSCLE MASS AND I AM NOT...DO NOT...EVEN THINK...THINK THAT YOU ARE COMING AT ME WITH SOME KIND OF MEASURING TAPE THING OR ONE OF THOSE BODY FAT ANALYSIS THINGS THAT YOU HOLD OUT IN FRONT OF YOU. NO. I AM NOT DOING THAT AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME. I AM NOT. DOING. IT."

So, the guy looks at me very kindly and says that I do not have to do the measurements and I do not have to weigh myself and that in fact, we are not even going to work out today because I obviously need to talk instead. And then he took so much time with me and let me laugh and cry and be sarcastic and even let me use lots of cuss words without being offended. He asked me about my diet and my level of commitment, at which point, I said, "I am not going to tell you how many Krispy Kreme donuts I ate yesterday, but it was eight and don't ask me about anything else." He could obviously tell how committed I am to being unhealthy by the sheer number of calories I had inhaled in that given twenty-four hour period. But the most amazing part of this meeting was the little nugget he planted that helped me to understand why I am so emotional. it was very simple. I am in a bad relationship.

On my drive home, it hit me all at once. I have been in a bad relationship for a long time with someone who loves me because they can get me to do whatever they want me to do as long as it satisfies them in the moment. I love her and she loves me. In fact, we met in middle school and have been best friends ever since. We have had some great times together. We live for the moment. We think only of now. We get what we want and nothing will stop us. My best friend is a lot of fun to be with, but she is also a manipulative and abusive bitch. Pretty much every day, she tells me I am stupid and ugly and fat and worthless. She only seems to be happy when I comfort her with food and television and wine. Honestly. You want to know just how bad she is? Her common suggestions as how to spend out free time include eating fast food and hiding the wrappers, eating pints of Ben and Jerry's, gorging ourself on bread and sweets, and she has even suggested eating an entire jar of Nutella. I mean, I love all these things, too, and I like spending time with her because it is just so comforting.

It had to be done and on that drive home. I broke up with that crazy bitch once and for all. I told her I loved her and I thought she was mostly great, but that she and I have to go our separate ways. Boy, she was really sad. She kept begging me to change my mind. And I finally had to break it down for her. I wasn't trying to hurt her feelings, but she clearly wasn't aware of how I felt. I had no choice but to tell her. So I did. I told her that she says mean things to me. She treats me like shit. She is selfish. She is a bully. She never thinks about the long-term. She is only interested in getting whatever she wants as quickly as possible. All of her ideas are bad and horrible and she is a total bitch. She doesn't care how it affects me. She doesn't care if I want to do something besides what she wants to do. She is stubborn and as long as I do what makes her happy, she is just fine. But, those days of me allowing her to dictate my life are over and are officially breaking up.

By the end of the conversation she decided to leave. She just slowly walked out the door and looked back at me all teary-eyed and sad. It was awful. I haven't heard from her since. It has been about four days. So, I went back to the gym and told the nice guy that I had kicked that girl out and he is so insightful. He said, "You may have kicked her out, but she still has her stuff at your house." And see? That is exactly what is happening. She did, indeed, leave all her shit at my apartment and I know I will have to see her again so I can give her all of her shit back. I am so not looking forward to this meeting. She has a lot of stuff here. Like, TWENTY YEARS of accumulated crap. It's going to take her a while to get it all out and every time I see her, I just know she is going to beg me to let her stay. Ugh. I hate arguing with her because I love her and I don't want to hurt her, but she just isn't good for me and I have bigger and better things to do in my life than sit around and stagnate with her.

This is the absolute worst breakup I have ever been through.

Sweet

I started a cleanse so that I could try to detox my body. My back is always sore. My eating isn't always great, and let's face it. I need to lose weight. The cleanse I chose is a really easy cleanse. It only requires 30 days of no alcohol, no sugar, no caffeine, no soy, no dairy, and no gluten. Easy.

Here's what the days have looked like to far:

Day 1: Asleep at my desk by 2:30pm.

Day 2: Sneak bites of a ham sandwich while no one is watching, which forces me to stand in the corner of the kitchen facing a wall of cabinets.

Day 3:Drive around looking for a coffee shop because I am really about to fall asleep while talking to my clients and then become so ashamed of my lack of willpower that I decide to tell myself that I am just scouting local parks for summer camps for Doof and then go back to work and try to hang myself on my cube wall.

Day 4: Doing well all day until about 8:45am when I somehow ended up in the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru and I have ordered a small black coffee. I was WIDE AWAKE FOR ABOUT EIGHT HOURS and I did a lot of work stuff. Then soccer and pollen and sneezing happened for about an hour and when we got home, Doof brings me a bowl of ice cream. Then he brings out Travis' ice cream. The wheels came off, people. It took me a flat five seconds to consume my entire bowl of ice cream and then I notice that Travis' bowl has so much more than mine. I say to Doof, "Why does Daddy's have so much more than mine?" And guess what he says! "Yours has the exact right amount for you. Daddy's amount is right for him." What was I supposed to do? I waited until Doof turned his back and started to very slooooooowly reach toward the other bowl. I had it in my hand and I was taking just a tiny taste and it was almost in my mouth and I was watching the spoon get closer and closer. I looked up to see if Doof was still looking the other direction, but you should know by now that my luck had run out. Doof stares at me with mouth agape and starts running toward me screaming, "NO! NOOO! NOOOOOOOO!" I scoop the tiny bite of ice cream into my mouth and have another huge spoonful ready to eat and my motions are so methodical, so perfectly timed...dip, scoop, slurp, dip, scoop, slurp...and Doof comes and grabs the bowl and spoon right out of my hand as I polished off about half of the bowl of ice cream in the last remaining second. He looks at me and screams, "THAT'S IT!!! MOM!" And then he starts to refill Travis' bowl to make up for what I had scarfed, so as I walk past him in the kitchen I made the best sad and disappointed face I could muster. Doof looks at me and I look at Doof and as he scrapes the container clean he says, "Here, Mom. You can lick the scooper."

Abducted by Aliens

When I first met my husband I had no idea it had been so long since he had been to the dentist. I am a mostly-regular-visit-to-the-dentist kind of person. After nagging him, he finally went and he had one tiny cavity. After twelve years. Makes me sick. The point is that I went to the dentist after missing ONE regular appointment. 

Wait. Let me preface this with the fact that I have very little tartar on my teeth even if I don't brush and floss regularly. The dentist told me that I probably do not have the enzyme (or if I have it, I have very little of it) that turns plaque into tartar. So, I am SO INSANELY SMUG about this little fact that I literally stopped flossing. I wasn't even ashamed to admit it to the hygienist  I know it's not smart. I know it's gross. I know you still get inflammation if you don't floss, but I made it for an entire YEAR without flossing more than two or three times and guess what? NO CAVITIES! I was thrilled. But then my dentist retired. 

So I met the new dentist at the next cleaning visit and immediately I didn't like her because I was being a smart ass and she didn't think I was funny. Whatever. The next set of x-rays at my regular cleaning visit showed...TWO small cavities between my teeth. Ok. Fine. Guess what? I don't care. I am not even considering getting those filled because you are a new dentist I have never met and you just think you're so damn smart. So I went to the next regular cleaning appointment and she looked at the same x-rays (because insurance only pays for them once a year and I go every six months) and was all, "Yep, just the same problems we talked about last time. Have a nice life." Ok. That's not a direct quote. Well, guess what? I'm finding a different dentist and getting a second opinion because you just think you're so damn smart and you act like you don't have time for me. Well, guess what, lady! I don't have time for you! I'm taking my business elsewhere. Harumph.

So I skipped a visit just to piss her off. I know she noticed. 

Okay. Well, I didn't plan on going back to see her because I just don't like her and she's making up all these cavities and just wants my money, but I am starting a new job and I decided I needed to get this over with because my schedule won't be so accommodating. The hygienist lady comes in and takes the x-rays and cleans my teeth and then she calls the dentist in for the exam.  Guess what that bitch tells me. She has the gall to start writing all this crap down in my chart and then looks over at me. "Ms. _____ (me), let's see here. You have.... (looks down at the chart and starts counting out loud)...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7... (then looks back at me with the most annoyed glare I have ever seen) ...seven cavities and you need a crown." And I am so pissed.

I'll just skip to the end at this point.

Three days later I find myself lying in this reclining chair with a bright light in my eyes, these weird sunglasses on, and these two people starring at me. I brought my iPod so I wouldn't have to hear the drilling and I asked that they make sure not to let me smell the burning bits of my teeth that they are grinding out of my mouth. All I can think is that this is what it is like to be abducted by aliens. They are using a DRILL...inside...my mouth. There's water spraying everywhere, there's clamps on my teeth, there's the suction thing that keeps sucking my tongue into it. All of it was horrible. And I laid there...white-knuckled, butt-cheeks clenched, shoulders and neck all tensed in case I have to hit someone and run out of there. But I just laid there without being restrained. Would I let a real alien do this to me? I guess so.

See? I think I am such a bad ass refusing dental care and being so smug about my enzymes and there I laid. Resistance was futile and I knew it. And that dentist thought she was so damn smart while she made Swiss cheese out of my teeth. I know she was smirking behind that mask.