Monday, April 18, 2005

I am scared

Here I sit watching the clock. I have fifteen minutes left.

Fifteen minutes till I must go change out of my Mr. Rogers work attire into the all important aerobic and get in shape look. Yes at this point it is a "look" and really nothing more, as I have been avoiding the gym for the last two months.

It didn't start this way, because there was this time I enjoyed working out, even to the point that I missed it terribly if by some slim chance I couldn't make the class. But then I fell ill, and one week bled into two weeks, and other excuses quickly followed.

Now I sit here in my little pod staring at the clock, and as the endless excuses run through my head, there is nothing worthy of me not attending. Just fear.

I am worried that I won't be in the shape I was before, and somehow the extra pounds I am carrying won't remind of such an important fact. There I will be trying to work out at the 'target' rate, and I will go to do a turn-around on the step and just fall over dead. I will be two breathes from dead, just enough time for our Human Resources Non Person to call the paramedic. They will rush in with their stretcher starting the pod farm gossip about who it is and why they deserve it, then onto the stretcher you go, out to the front of the building. The poor paramedic will have to carry my non-aerobic body on the stretcher down the front stairs because our elevator can't accommodate. People will have that pitty look of 'so sorry you are being embarrassed infront of everyone and glad it isn't me' as I am shoved out the front door.

Yes, this is the lengths I have gone to in my mind trying to create an excuse not to go.

I have to go change now ...

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