Showing posts with label The Y. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Y. Show all posts
Thursday
About Muscle Marys
Taking a cue from the heroine of my new novel, I decided to lift some free weights today instead of cardio as I always do at the gym, albeit her gym amounted to a pair of pitted dumbbells supplied by her 'Maestro' in a 1950's testosterone soaked dive at a Mexican bullring and my Y is 'new millennium' sleek and shiny.
Despite running an hour three times weekly on the elliptical, I was astonished by how weak my muscles felt. I really struggled to do what had been so easy a year ago. Tomorrow I'll be in pain. But one thing I did notice as I looked around the gym--usually I have my head stuck in my kindle on the elliptical catching up with query-reading. My middle-aged body is in damned good nick after I discounted the young and not so young Muscle Mary's walking round with their tattooed biceps and a third of the 30 and 40 somethings.
Sunday
Chopping Wood and return of Hornet
A tree feel near our house last week as a result of the violent storms we've been having of late. I was up in the office and heard it crash on the ground.
So, when a tree falls in the forest--yes, it can be heard, Virginia.
Spent yesterday and today cutting it and chopping it into pieces for firewood. It felt really good to do that kind of exercise as opposed to working my ass off on an elliptical at the Y.
On the subject of the Y, it's looking brilliant as a result of its multi-million dollar facelift. My old nemesis, the Hornet, continues to ride rough shod and hog the latest equipment. She's working out too hard now and is looking like one of Tom Wolfe's Social X-Rays. Still as rude as ever. As I just finished a 50 min session on fat burner mode (yes, 50 mins) on my (and her) favorite elliptical, she approached as I was wiping down the machine. She got on, opened her magazine without even a thank you and then said "The floor has a lot of your sweat on it, too." She peered down at it bug-eyed.
I looked at it, looked at her, looked at it again. "Keep your voice down," I said. "The others'll be jealous if they find out." And off I walked to the hoots of laughter of a lady nearby.
So, when a tree falls in the forest--yes, it can be heard, Virginia.
Spent yesterday and today cutting it and chopping it into pieces for firewood. It felt really good to do that kind of exercise as opposed to working my ass off on an elliptical at the Y.
On the subject of the Y, it's looking brilliant as a result of its multi-million dollar facelift. My old nemesis, the Hornet, continues to ride rough shod and hog the latest equipment. She's working out too hard now and is looking like one of Tom Wolfe's Social X-Rays. Still as rude as ever. As I just finished a 50 min session on fat burner mode (yes, 50 mins) on my (and her) favorite elliptical, she approached as I was wiping down the machine. She got on, opened her magazine without even a thank you and then said "The floor has a lot of your sweat on it, too." She peered down at it bug-eyed.
I looked at it, looked at her, looked at it again. "Keep your voice down," I said. "The others'll be jealous if they find out." And off I walked to the hoots of laughter of a lady nearby.
Monday
Is there really a thing called women's fiction
So I took the plunge and decided to open the covers of my first 'women's fiction' novel. It's My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult.
I started reading it while on the elliptical at the 'Y'--the true acid test of a good book, because if it doesn't make the time fly, out it goes.
Astonishingly, my first fifty minute workout went by really quickly. I'd even done the five minute cool-down without realizing it--and I was stepping away and no 'burned calories' were being recorded because the damned machine had switched off.
Well and good.
As I delved deeper, I began to anticipate what was going to happen--not so good. But I have to say her writing is excellent. She can sure turn a phrase and some of her similies and metaphors are really good--if a bit abundant, something I was accused of by an editor on one occasion. And a few are a stretch, but every writer can't hit a perfect score on that count.
I find her woman characters are fantastically drawn, but am less convinced by the lead male character, Cameron, and Sara's husband. Their sensibilities and thoughts are too much what a woman would want them to be and didn't ring real for me.
However, these are minor quibbles and I will definitely read another Picoult novel.
Men looking for an ice breaker at the gym or wherever might consider carrying about one of her novels. It's extraordinary the number of women who've approached me to ask how I'm enjoying the book and then begin chatting as if I'm their best friend, even women who've ignored me at the gym for the past three years.
Yes Virginia, there really is a thing called women's fiction.
I started reading it while on the elliptical at the 'Y'--the true acid test of a good book, because if it doesn't make the time fly, out it goes.
Astonishingly, my first fifty minute workout went by really quickly. I'd even done the five minute cool-down without realizing it--and I was stepping away and no 'burned calories' were being recorded because the damned machine had switched off.
Well and good.
As I delved deeper, I began to anticipate what was going to happen--not so good. But I have to say her writing is excellent. She can sure turn a phrase and some of her similies and metaphors are really good--if a bit abundant, something I was accused of by an editor on one occasion. And a few are a stretch, but every writer can't hit a perfect score on that count.
I find her woman characters are fantastically drawn, but am less convinced by the lead male character, Cameron, and Sara's husband. Their sensibilities and thoughts are too much what a woman would want them to be and didn't ring real for me.
However, these are minor quibbles and I will definitely read another Picoult novel.
Men looking for an ice breaker at the gym or wherever might consider carrying about one of her novels. It's extraordinary the number of women who've approached me to ask how I'm enjoying the book and then begin chatting as if I'm their best friend, even women who've ignored me at the gym for the past three years.
Yes Virginia, there really is a thing called women's fiction.
Monday at the Y
Pennsylvania is horrid when its muggy. I don't think I'll ever get used to this no matter how long I live here. Years ago, I thought high summer in London was bad but it was a breeze in comparison.
And this morning at the Y, they'd decided to conserve energy by keeping the air-con off and the windows can't be opened. All around the gym people were moving from station to station with a sheen on their skins and sweat beads on their foreheads--some were even sweating within minutes of beginning their routines. Even Hornet was having breathing problems and seemed too tired to bother to straighten her head band which was rakishly lopsided and the scrupulously applied mascara was running in ghoulish fashion. (She's since sold her bright yellow Hummer undoubtedly on account of the gas usage--to my surprise, she's eaten the whole hog and gone 'Prius.')
I was actually nervous some of the older dears might faint, or worse, expire. There's a policy at the Y that foul language will NOT be tolerated. Much subversion occurred today...even from the muttering snippets I heard from the old dearies.
And this morning at the Y, they'd decided to conserve energy by keeping the air-con off and the windows can't be opened. All around the gym people were moving from station to station with a sheen on their skins and sweat beads on their foreheads--some were even sweating within minutes of beginning their routines. Even Hornet was having breathing problems and seemed too tired to bother to straighten her head band which was rakishly lopsided and the scrupulously applied mascara was running in ghoulish fashion. (She's since sold her bright yellow Hummer undoubtedly on account of the gas usage--to my surprise, she's eaten the whole hog and gone 'Prius.')
I was actually nervous some of the older dears might faint, or worse, expire. There's a policy at the Y that foul language will NOT be tolerated. Much subversion occurred today...even from the muttering snippets I heard from the old dearies.
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