Is Exercising Too Much To Ask? Apparently The Answer Is Yes

Despite being plus size and proud, the effects of aging have started me questioning just how plus size I can be.  I.E., high blood pressure and a right knee that hurts like a bitch. (Luxating patella, if you must know. It's a condition that Yorkshire Terriers and other small dogs are prone to.  Yay me.) 

I decided to stop putting off exercise and go swimming at the Y my husband belongs to.  I bundled swimsuit, shampoo/conditioner and body wash, and headed out and realized: fuck. I don't have a padlock. 

Into the hardware store for a padlock with keys.  

I get to the Y, go to the elevators--the pools and Aquatic office are on the 2nd floor.  The 2nd floor is mostly other non-profits, so I ask several people where the Aquatic office is.  I find it, and am sat down until the guy is found.  I'm in the wrong place; the women's dressing room has been moved to the 3rd floor.  I get on the elevator, and find the 3rd floor button is covered up. 

So I go to the 4th floor, which is the gym proper, and wander around asking people how to get to the third floor. Because no one on that floor is in their offices.  Nobody knows.  Finally one guy says to take the elevator on the left.  I do, but the button doesn't light, and I end up on the 2nd floor again. I am righteously pissed.  After procrastinating for months, I finally get my shit together, and I CAN'T get to the damn pool!  

So, back in the elevator up to the 4th floor.  I walked down stairs to the 3rd floor, no entry, knocked repeatedly.  Crickets.  So I go back up and find another flight of stairs.  No entry.  I pound on the door as hard as I can.  Crickets.  I am starting to think this was a seriously bad decision.  

What chlorinated hell is this?

 I go back up, scout the floor, and find a stairs that don't look like fire stairs!  They're steps to the third floor!  Yay! THE THIRD FLOOR MEN'S DRESSING ROOM. 

As old guys scuttle to cover up, a security person escorts me out.  I'm almost in tears, telling him I am just trying to get to the goddamn womens' dressing room.  First I go to the towel desk, get two fresh towels, find a locker, etc.  But I can't open the package the lock is in. 

Back to the towel desk, ask for a pair of scissors, cut open the package, go down, get everything arranged, in my bathing suit and two towels, find the door to the pool-!  

Go to the pool to see a sign that you have to wear a bathing cap.  Shit.  There are these blue elastic headthings, but for some reason the one I pick doesn't fit, and I look and it says: Shoe Covers. 

Back to the towel desk, ask can I buy a swim cap.  I have to go to the 1st floor membership desk.  

Back to locker, put pants and shoes on, down to the desk, buy a swim cap, but not before the guy asks to see my guest pass. "This is all you've got?" he asks, but he drops it because he can see the murder in my eyes. 

Finally, I get myself, towels and tote bag to the pool, and get in the water. 

And everything is okay again.

It's Freezing and My Dog Has Cabin Fever

It is in the single digits here.  I'm thankful that the heat has been fixed! ("Thankfully" is a descriptive term, as in "He received the presents thankfully".)  The apartment is still somewhat cold, but we're not running around screaming as we pull our clothes on! The vet has told me not to take Fletcher out in this weather. 

Which means he's using the wee-wee pads in the bathroom (ugh) and going crazy from lack of exercise.  I play with him for a few minutes, but then he loses interest.  But once I start something, he bats me with his paddle-sized paws.  Right now he's stretched out in the sun.



Oops...as soon as I wrote that, Rupert the cat drove him off the sunlit couch and took it over.  Fletcher is now looking at me pathetically from the other side of the room.

I'm having some trouble concentrating because I haven't taken my meds yet.  Crap on a cracker. Remember, kids, take your medicine or you'll end up sitting slackjawed in front of a computer like me!