Has anyone ever said “Get at me” or “Hit me up” to you? I believe it means “Please return my phone call or instant message as soon as you are able.” But one never knows. Please stop saying it if you employ such terminology; it grates.
Today I was dutifully trotting on the treadmill, and I noticed all the bizarre things other people do in the gym. One gentleman has a routine of pointing at himself in the mirror, with alternating hands, as he bestrides the elliptical machine. Another woman tries to access the internet with her Palm Pilot while she’s on the stepper. I can get a good look at this in the mirror in front of me, as she bobs up and down and deploys antennae and swears.
And what do I do? We-ell. I thought about pointing back at the man behind me, but mainly I like to keep a bemused, vacant look on my face, as if I just won an Academy Award. I don’t want to look too pleased at how my deltoids glisten in the mirror. I want to remember things, like thanking my husband and my manager. Mainly I totally space out.
I did a controlled experiment with the heart rate sensor too. When I think happy self-involved thoughts, say, about my hair, it’s just fine. When I think of getting a job it shoots right up! Out of the cardio zone!
I’ve been trying the boxing stuff too. Soon I will be wiry, yet thick-necked, like Secretariat or Geri Halliwell. I asked my trainer “Why am I not losing tons of weight?” And he replied that I should work on my diet, perhaps cut out that bottle of wine I drink every night. Good god. Luckily pills are still OK!
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