As I finished up my workout on the treadmill this afternoon, the gym was suddenly overtaken by saggy middle-aged men. Saggy middle-aged men who not only prevented me from using the old Nautilus weight machines in the corner with which I usually finish up my workout, but who also made me uncomfortably aware that I was the only woman in the gym. That's definitely the downside to working out- one's looks may improve, but that results in one recieving some rather icky looks.

I hurried through my stretching, and retreated to the downstairs weightroom, where the 'real' atheletes lift. Now, there are a few reasons why I don't normally lift downstairs: a) really loud heavy metal music, b) really BIG football players, and c) I cannot for the life of me figure out how to use most of the machines in the room. Today, reasons a and b were blissfully absent due to spring break. On the other hand, reason c was still very much present. During the high school phys. ed. and my various stints as a YWCA member, I've learned how to use a fair variety of weight machines, from the obvious to the less so. The ones here, though, are totally bewildering: they all look like matte-grey and blue-cushioned torture devices, designed to contort or at least confound any potential user.

Upon walking in, I was immediately completely lost. In order to keep from looking like a total fool, I zeroed in on the first recognizable piece of equipment, the lat pull. As did my set, I surveyed the room, looking for the other familiar sights. I spotted the bench press, and made that my next vantage point. I normally don't do much more than a simple weight workout, so I desperately needed to find the leg press in order to balance out the workout my upper body was getting.

I wandered aimlessly about the room for a few minutes, hoping that the few other people there were too absorbed in their own workouts to be aware of my ineptitude. After what seemed like ages, my eyes lit upon the only equipment in the room that could possibly accomodate the leg press motion. Ahh, sweet success. I had only to move some of the weight disks around (note to the oaf who oh-so-kindly left the machine as-is when he left: I most definitely cannot leg press 300 pounds, so put your weights away!) and wrestle with the adjustable seat before I could finally finish up my workout. Believe me, I made a speedy escape.

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Hearing: U2, The Joshua Tree

Just consumed: Some rather tasty improvised burritos, with salsa and vegan psuedo sour cream.

Reading: Lies My Teacher Told Me, a book analyzing twelve high school US history textbooks from a revisionist standpoint, by James W. Loewen. Strangely enough, the book I used for AP US History is one of the twelve criticized in this one.

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