I work out at my little local rec center. I love the people there. But since I currently only have a paying job two mornings a week, I'm there with a legion of retirees and a few stay-at-home moms. The moms are usually in a rush to get their toddlers into the child care room and then to the class so they can get them home and to their morning naps by 10 a.m.
The retirees and I get some time to chat. I don't mind the chatter before class or in the cardio room, but there is one man that I refuse to go into the weight room with not because of what he says, but because of how he works out.
I'm quite sure as I watch him huff and puff and count his reps that he's either going to a) throw his back out, b) give himself a hernia or c) have a heart attack. It's too much weight. It's improper form. It's testosterone at its worst.
You might think I'm getting carried away. But one of the retirees that used to walk on the treadmill passed away earlier this year. I'm not sure what he was doing... Over the weekend, one of the main landowners in Central Illinois passed away as well. The chatter in the cardio room this a.m., was that he had a heart attack. They were both sad that he was only 65, because one of them was 66 and graduated the year ahead of the deceased from the same high school.
Between my iPhone and the company, it makes 60 minutes on a stationary bike on Alpine Mode go pretty quickly. Almost 20 miles in an hour was a good workout. Now I just need to get it to translate to an actual bike. :-) My problem is that I get way too distracted out in the world. Too many things to look at, which is funny, because mostly, I'm just biking through farmland.
Of course, now that I've blogged this, I'll be the one who a) throws out her back, b) gives herself a hernia or c) has a heart attack. Because that's how Loosey's life is played.