Is This Type of Torture Legal?

Mood: Frustrated (trying to write and the hubs keeps interrupting me - every few minutes - for oh so important things like switching out cables for our printer).

On tv: The Simpsons (Don't judge me!)

It has recently been brought to our attention (via the fact that our clothes no longer fit properly and walking more than a few feet has become cause for both exhaustion and celebration) that the hubs and I are in desperate need of a renewal of our gym membership. Truthfully, we thought that we'd only allowed our membership to lapse for a year...maybe a year and a half, tops. However, when we dragged our tired, fat, lazy selves up to the gym counter to "renew" our membership, we were advised that we were no longer in the system, nor were we in their "old" files. The perfectly perky lady at the counter cheerfully advised us that they only keep files for three years. Seriously? Three years? It's been  more than three years since we've dragged ourlazyselves to the gym?

Since our last foray into the world of exercise, a few things have changed. First, we had to fill out a new form and then instead of the old (and quite handy) key fob you used to swipe to check in, we were issued ID's - with pictures that they took with no warning. Kind of like a surprise mug shot that left me looking a little like this (only fatter):

Personally I suspect that they are going to use this picture to shame people like  me into coming in and working out more often. I expect that I'll open the local newspaper someday and see my picture with a caption "have you seen this woman? Last spotted in the Dairy Queen drive thru - if found, please return to the treadmill."

Sigh. I tucked the card away hopefully to be promptly lost tragically misplaced and never to be seen again. Then, the hubs and I headed for the equipment room...where lots of shiny new equipment waited for us - ready to torture us mercilessly help us get ourselves into shape.

I headed for the treadmill because walking seemed easy enough and I was drawn to the fact that the new treadmills have personal televisions attached (short of hanging a piece of chocolate cake in front of me, tv is a pretty good way to keep me moving). The problem? I am gym equipment stupid and there were way too many buttons and way too few instructions on this machine.

<----See? Lots of shiny fun buttons to push.

Oh sure I figured out how to turn it on and even how to set one of the workout programs but the tv? That took a bit of effort. I finally figured out how to turn it on and change the channel (is it sad that I was wishing for a remote so I could just punch in the channel I wanted instead of having to scroll through and find it?) but the headphone jack still eludes me - thank God for closed captioning or I'd have no idea what the Food Network challenge was all about. Yes, I watched Food Network while walking on the treadmill - don't judge me!

Eventually, the machine and I were moving. Well, mostly it was me doing the moving but in an occasional burst of sadistic rage the treadmill would speed up or suddenly ramp up the incline so that I was forced to hold onto the bars for dear life. I began to both fear and loathe the random mood swings of my self inflicted torture but I reminded myself it was for my health, for the greater good - eventually I resorted to closing my eyes and thinking of England (which, btw, was absolutely useless).

Finally, I was nearing the end of my workout. I was watching the countdown timer the way a fat woman I watch the cookie timer. I was checking my pulse on the pulse bars, I was checking out how many calories I had burned (surprisingly little considering how much punishment that machine had doled out), etc. when the unthinkable happened. My hubs, the love of my life, came bouncing over after his workout on the stationary bike and decided he had to "check his pulse" on my machine - he reached across and put his hands on the bars tripping the emergency stop button on the treadmill and causing all my wonderful information - time, distance, calories burned - to be erased in what I can only assume is the exercise equipment equivalent of a panic attack.

Then he had the nerve to look at me and say "Why did you stop walking?"

We Hubs decided that, in light of the homocidal rage annoyed look in my eyes that it was best to call it a day and head home for dinner. The sad thing? We've got that membership so we'll be going back and I'm fairly certain I saw the elliptical giving me the evil eye.

I may die doing it, but mark my words I WILL figure that tv out!*


*Yes, I realize that I should be saying "I'll get in shape" or "I'll lose weight" but I think it's only fair to be realisticly honest and my money is on my ability to figure out the tv.