Excuse my sweat, please.

Tuesday.... that means exercise at the YMCA (cue Village People... now try to get that song out of your head). I am getting into this 3 day a week routine. I am now up to 45 minutes of exercise. Which is bizarre when I think about how much more I used to be able to do when younger. But I spent 2 years battling a lung infection not so many years ago (1997-1999) and I gave into that mostly sedentary job I retired from in the years between then and now.

I like to observe people. And a gym is an excellent place to do that. The only drawback is having to stifle the chuckling. Which I can easily do by looking at myself in one of the ubiquitous mirrors along the walls. Yeah, I look just as silly as most of the rest. And, of course, there are always a few that are buff which just ruins your mood even more.

I admit to looking at the weight settings of others. You know, the amount of weight that the exerciser is moving on whatever machine they are interacting with. I do this because it makes me feel better about my meager weight settings compared to those buff folks I mentioned in the last paragraph. I am, of course, mature enough to realize we all have our physical limits and we must crawl before we walk. And immature enough to feel smug when the fat guy is turning red trying to move 20 pounds on a machine I set at 85. And embarrassed when I realize I had to move it down to 85 from 135 that the young woman used just before me.

I am amazed by the people on the treadmill when I come in that are still on that same treadmill when I leave some 45 minutes later. Truly amazed. I would get bored running outside for that long (assuming I would not have collapsed, gasping, on the side of the road after 4 minutes). But inside? With no change of scenery except what's on the TVs on the wall facing the treadmills and bicycles?

I don't know if it's helping me. I know it isn't hurting me yet. I also know it will take some time before I get any real noticeable results. And those results will be slow and subtle that I won't likely notice them myself. Someone else will say, "Have you lost weight?" Or, "Did you give up beer? Where's the belly?"

I never, by the way, had a beer belly. It was/is an ice cream belly. With some chocolate pudding tossed in.