Going Solo

I spent Christmas week at my parent’s home in a small town in Pennsylvania, where I basically overate and tried not to train (but failed–who knew sitting on my butt was so hard?) 

I’m making friends with one of the trainers at the gym back home.  I rarely notice other people at the gym, but I’m very noticeable.  In a weight room in a rural community, I’m generally the only girl.  Not only that, I wear hot pink basketball shorts, and shed my t-shirt after I warm up, and I’m in peak physical condition.  The trainer was very noticeable as well–for starters, he’s black, and we have very few black people in my hometown.  So not only that, he’s very tall, and weighs at least twice what I do, maybe closer to three times, and it’s all muscle.  He’s in peak physical condition too.  We bonded over chat of protein powders, body fat percentages, and fitness competitions.

So that’s one new fitness friend I have.  But he lives 300 miles away.  It’s lonely at the gym by myself these days.  My old crew has been emailing and facebook-messaging each other furiously.  We miss each other.  Someone pushing us to the next level, racing each other to see who could hit 20 sprawl jumps first, and comparing heart rates.  It’s been weeks now since someone teased me about my weight or my waist line.  Normal people just don’t do that.  I wish they did.  I promise not to be offended, I know it’s just another way of encouraging me to work harder and eat veggies, not cookies.

[Note: eating all that sugar and junk over the past week made my knee flare up again, and I was barely using it.  Now that I’m home and back on track, it doesn’t hurt anymore.  So lest I forget: Maria, diet is important!]