The one where I go to the gym- and I don't die!

Argh!

Yes, I finally, finally went. The sad thing is, that I love all the sweet little women who go to my gym, and I still avoid it. The staff knows me there, though, so everytime I miss a few days (months...years)I get, "Hey! Where have you been?!

Yes, it makes me feel guilty enough so I don't want to go back. Yes, I am a dork. These women have seen me about 25 lbs. heavier than I am now. But they also saw me about 40 lbs. lighter. So I am *slightly* self-conscious about my bad gym attendance record.

Anyway, I went. I think I said that already. All the elliptical machines were taken, and instead of my usual, "It's a sign from God- I'm leaving-" excuse, I just bullied myself into hopping on a treadmill and going to town. 15 minutes in, I realize that my body is quite literally running on empty- I hadn't eaten breakfast. But I stuck it out- 30 minutes, 2 miles, 225 calories. Actually, it's probably more than that, but I didn't input my weight. I did sprint a few times during the fast songs on my iPod.

I have this weird fantasy, involving being one of those "women who runs." It involves me, about 60 lbs. thinner, wearing a color-coordinated outfit with my iPod in a band right above my bicep. I am loping through the streets of my neighborhood like a gazelle. There is also a long swishy ponytail, and the mylar swooshes on my Nikes are flashing in the early morning sun.

I can picture this very vividly in my head, and at first, I laughed at it. But why? I did a decent 7 minute mile in high school. Granted, I had to wear two bras on top of each other to keep from knocking myself out, but I did it. It does however, seem a lot further away when I am taking 30 minutes to go two miles on the treadmill in my climate-controlled gym.