Movin' On

It's a funny thing, moving on. Usually we do it because we are either forced to by circumstances or we choose a new path and start truckin' down it with zest. Movin' on. Truckin' along. Change is just another speed bump in the journey we call life.

Yesterday I worked my final shift at the gym. I'll admit that it was bitter sweet and there were a couple of gym members who accused me of being a traitor. Ouch. Still others were supportive of my reasons for moving on and encouraged me to shift it into high gear to accomplish all the things I dream of. 

I remember being the newb and wondering if I'd ever learn everyones name. The training seemed so intense and overwhelming at times. All that paperwork! All those women! Would I ever figure it out and stop feeling like I didn't fit in?

It's funny to look back and realize that in a few short months I would put into practice what I had learned with ease. 

There are moments from the past two years that make me smile and of course those that make me cringe as well. Remember Idiot Hippie Girl? What about Karma Girl? Yeah, good times people, good times. 

Today, when the alarm started whispering at 5:00am, I couldn't help but smile. Friday's use to be my early shift. Friday use to mean crawling out of bed at 3:45, eating breakfast at 4:20, and unlocking the gym doors at 5:00. 

It was heaven to sleep in. 

Today I begin a journey that may very well take me back into business ownership. It will bring changes and probably frustrations. I'm sure I will wonder if I'll ever learn all the new names. There will be new paperwork. New challenges. 

Last night a friend told me to go and, "Whip those ladies into shape!"

And I think that's exactly what I'll do.

Happy Skin

I met a friend for coffee today. It's been a long, long time so we had lots to catch up on. She was surprised at all the crap that is hogging my time. I was equally surprised at her load. We are so a like and yet so very different.

But now, hours later, one thing keeps going through my mind that she shared with me; her recent doctor visit.

It seems that my friend, like every other woman I know, has been on a perpetual diet ...forever. She works out like a beast, seriously, and yet, she's still not a size six.

The doctor was able to shed some light on her health issues that have caused her to remain larger than that coveted size six. Finally, she has medical proof that she will probably never be tiny...

And all it did was depress her.

The question begs to be asked, "Why can't we all just be happy in our own skin?"

Do men cry, moan, eat a gallon of ice cream, simply because they will never have that twenty-five year old body again?

I don't think so Tim.

I've seen those paintings of by-gone eras and guess what, those chicks were fat and not just a little chubby. We are talking FAT. Was fat sexy back then?

Please do not misunderstand me, I am not saying we should all just sit around watching Oprah and eating bon bons. Although...Ahem, never mind. We all need to eat better. Seriously, read a food label and see what you are putting into your body. GET OFF THE COUCH. For heaven's sake drink some water!

I just don't think that thin equals happy nor do I believe that it equals healthy. There are tons of skinny people in this country who couldn't walk a country mile or a city mile for that matter.

I am surrounded by women who look in the mirror and cry because they don't like what they see. I think that's a rotten shame.

Maybe if we stopped focusing so much on the negative and looked closely at the positive, we wouldn't have such a depression problem in this country.

I guess I just want to know that people are happy in their skin, regardless of what the scale says.

Two Posts in One Day? What Gives?

I had the bestest day. A really, really awesome day at work, no less! I don't really know why. It just felt good. Everyone was in such a great mood. Lots and lots of laughter. Maybe it was the cool air that smacked them in the face the minute they opened the door. Maybe it was my witty and charming self (not!). Perhaps it was simply because today is Friday. I don't know why, but it rocked!

My friend, The Stalker, is in town for a few days. She'll be attending her high school reunion tomorrow night. She graduated a year before I did, so basically, we know a lot of the same people. But I don't "reunion".

Evah

I just...well...I don't care. I'm not out to impress someone with my resume, which is strangely lacking due to all the years of momminess. My nearly non-existent writing career isn't much to write home about and I'm fat. My hair is turning gray. My greatest accomplishment is my children and the fact that I'm still married to the same guy nearly twenty-two years later really doesn't mean much if you're trying to keep up with the Joneses.

Cept, I'm not. Cause I don't care.

But, I've gotten off topic.

Sorry.

Anyway, Stalker is going to her reunion and when a lady at the gym mentioned that she was supposed to attend her reunion tomorrow also I couldn't help but ask which high school.

You guessed it, she and I did attend the same school. Weird huh?

It wasn't until she brought her yearbook in from her car that we could truly place each other.

Man, I totally had Farrah hair back then. Wavy, big, brown, Farrah hair.

Somehow, I think Farrah would be proud of my rockin' big hair.

Everyone at the club had a good laugh with the two of us as we compared notes about who was married, divorced, or still mean after all these years.

Other ladies started sharing about their reunions or lack thereof. It was fun to listen to their stories and I think everyone felt the way that I did: uplifted.

I still don't know why really. What I do know is that we live on a small rock in a huge universe. You just never know who you'll run into.

Wasting Away Again...

A note to Annie’s employer: This is not, I repeat not, a shameless brown-nose post. Please do not take it as such and think I’m buttering you up. Unless, of course, this type of behavior gets me promoted...Just kidding! Ha ha ha

Is it necessary to excel in all facets of life?

I’m just wondering because it happened again; someone told me I am too “smart” to be employed at the gym.

“You’re wasting your time,” she stated, “Go back to school, you’re not too old.”

Gee, thanks for throwing in the not too old part. Seriously, though, why do I have to have some high profile, high stress, career? Can’t I be happy without it? I feel happy, a little stressed at times, but happy none the less.

I like writing what I want to write and occasionally having something published. Yes, I know I should kick it up a notch, but I guess I lack ambition. Either that or I’m afraid of success (which is totally possible). I know in my heart of hearts that I will never write the great American novel and I’m okay with that.

My other full-time job is, well, still a job. I’m still a mommy. I still have a chickie at home who needs me. Granted, she needs me to drive her here and there, to give her money for Starbucks and the occasional movie, and to nag remind her to clean her room, scoop the cat box, and feed the dog. Honestly, where would she be without me? Girl still likes to read books with me, watch chick flicks with me and bake. She needs me…or maybe I need her…

Then there is Master Smiley and his brother The Game Master who will descend upon our humble dwelling in April when Soldier Girl deploys to parts hot and sandy. There will be more clothes to wash, more homework, more driving, more laughing, loving, living, to do. If I returned to school would I have time to play legos with Master Smiley? Trust me, at forty-one; I really have to work to learn Guitar Hero. That’s going to take some time and I don’t think classes at my local community college will help me achieve rock star status.

And as much as I hate to point this out my FIL is getting older. He is requiring more help here and there and I know whose shoulder he’ll lean upon. Funny that. The man makes me stark raving mad, but when it comes down to it, I’m the one. Sigh. I’m the one who drives him to doctor appointments when he needs “an ear” to listen to the doctor. It’s me who trots upstairs to answer some mundane question about his printer, the internet, or how to cook a pork roast. Yeah. It’s me and as time passes, I can see my role as caregiver increasing.

Am I too smart to work part-time for peanuts at the gym? Maybe, but honestly I don’t think so. This is not a high stress job. It requires me to know the facts of the job and to do it well. I need a bright and shining outlook and a desire to better myself while helping others to do the same. It’s not brain surgery, Mr. Spock, but it is fun…Most of the time.

See, even at the gym, a place I’ve come to love, there are bitchy folks. Not my fellow employees, but there are members here and there that have totally crappy attitudes. They remind me of what it’s like to work in a traditional office with a group of women: the snotty remarks, gossip, and just plain meanness of it all. Why would I want to trade a job I like for a job that features small, petty, nasty women for EIGHT HOURS PLUS A DAY?

I don’t want that. I hate that. When I was twenty I took it. I took it because I had to and I was too insecure to tell someone to bugger off. That’s not the case anymore. When faced with a difficult person now I try to be friendly but if they throw snark my way, I laugh and move on. I don’t need to deal with the drama. It eats up too much energy and time.

So, in regard to whether I am “too” smart to be employed at the gym, I’d have to say the opposite is true. I have a job I love with fellow employees who rock. The members are a group of women who, for the most part, are vibrant, happy, interesting, and down right funny. The hours I work are very conducive to family life and I’m happy. Seriously, who needs more than that?

I think I’m way too smart not to work at the gym.