I don’t know about you, but when I’m working out and having my alternate-universe thoughts about living in Beyonce’s dreamy, kind of sexy-time-these-days-filled world, I lose track of the time and the day and specifically what I look like. Which is helpful, because I sort of look like a swamp monster who’s emerged from the lagoon (that’s where they live, right?) after years below the surface and everyone’s like “That girl does not own a brush and/or has too many sweat glands on her body.”
Anyway, it’s useful to live in my world at these specific moments because you are immune to looks and questioning side-glances while also getting a killer workout and listening to Drake sing to Mrs. Carter. It’s win/win all around.
Until, of course, someone breaks the Bliss Bubble and talks to you at the gym and you’re like “Aw snap, people can see me.” (full disclosure: I’ve never actually said the out loud words “Aw Snap.”) Which is exactly what happened to me yesterday. And it was incredible.
First of all, I go to the gym at the same time – give or take five minutes – every single work day of my life. It’s what flexible and breezy people do who need structure in their lives so they don’t crumble before you. And I’ve been doing this for about three years now, seeing the same 40 or so folks each day, some of whom I think use the gym to check their emails while fake-lifting weights and lay on the stretching mats to comfortably play Candy Crush (note to us all: this is why we’re an obese nation.)
But mainly, we’re all there for the same reason: to wear cute workout outfits and burn calories. Which is why I wear my Friendapalooza shirts about every other day with whatever shorts are the least dirty.
So yesterday, while hopping off the treadmill, a woman I’d not seen in my gym routine world before, approached me as I was sweat-walking over to do some circuit training (do I sound like Jillian Michaels? Goal achieved.)
And then this happened:
Gym Woman: “Excuse me…”
GW: “Does your shirt say ‘Friendapalooza’?”
Me, laughing awkwardly: “Oh…yeah…why?”
GW: “I know this sounds weird, but do you by chance write a blog?”
Me, hearing buzzing from happiness in my ears: “Yes….”
GW, excitedly: “Stories About My Underpants?!”
Me, looking around for Ashton Kutcher to pop out from behind the bushes (I know there aren’t bushes in the gym, just go with me on this): “….yes…..”
GW: “Oh my God! I read you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday!”
Me, losing all sense of reality at the realization that I’m completely famous now: “Really? That’s crazy! How do you even know about it?”
GW: “A friend of mine sent it to me when you wrote about that time you sang at the boy when you were younger and we though it was so funny. I’ve been reading ever since!”
Me: “Oh my God that’s crazy! Who’s your friend?”
GW: “INSERT NAME OF FRIEND HERE” (admittedly, I don’t remember it).
Me: “Wow, I don’t know her either…” (in-my-head-thought: I’m famous to one person!)
And then some other things were said that I honestly don’t remember. Except she did ask to see my ring and then complimented CB. And CALLED him CB, which totally told me she was a fan because she didn’t even know his real name! Which is awesome.
Of course, I emailed CB right away and I’m pretty sure the subject line was “I’m famous.”
Sidebar: I’ve become unbearable to live with now that I have new-found fame. I have begun demanding that we only have blue M&M’s in my trailer at all times and only white roses, not red, or I totally won’t perform!
Anyway, it was pretty much one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me – I’m even going to go so far as to say that it’ll likely overshadow the birth of our first-born, and pretty sure CB would agree. However, my peg was brought back down to the first notch when I gleefully bounced into the locker room and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was like “Oh crap. That’s what you looked like when you were discovered.”
It’s good to stay humble.
So, if you’re reading this, Girl at the Gym Yesterday – thank you for making my day. And reading this blog! And now I suggest that each of you forward this blog onto a friend so I can be approached at the supermarket, in the women’s public restroom at work, and on the subway. I’ll be the girl wearing my rotation of Friendapalooza shirts from now on to make me easier to identify.
You’re welcome, world.