Dear Muscle Head...

Dear Muscle Head (and your Muscle Head Friend Blocking My Car),

I have a very busy schedule today. In the time that it took you to roll out of bed and arrive at the gym, I have already packed school lunches, dropped both kids off at school, paid some bills, read the newspaper, exercised for an hour and thirty minutes and stopped by the post office. Now I need to shower, do a load of laundry, plant the three mums I bought this weekend, wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, balance out my household budget, go to the grocery store and find a solution for world peace all before I pick up my kids at 3:30pm.

But I digress, back to the subject, could you please kindly NOT block my super cool mini van in the ever packed Lifetime Fitness parking lot when I walk out at 9:40am? I realize the parking lot is full but it appears to me that you and your muscle headed buddy are either stupid or rude. Maybe a little of both.

Your God's gift to women (aged 22-28) attitudes have no effect of my late-thirties brain. Yes, you have super human biceps and your quads scrape together as you walk. But I rock some amazing crows feet near my eyes that can only be placed there by years of sleep deprivation due to my stellar parenting skills of walking and rocking my babies while they screamed each night. You don't come by my extra pounds and twitchy bad back easily. You have to work on years of stress eating, baby lifting, lego floor playing and mac n cheese dinners to look like this.

Hence, the reason I am AT a fitness club. Last week I was in la la land as I exercised at 1pm. I should have known better than to arrive mid-morning rush but it seems that you are in no rush. You are standing there drinking your crap GNC protein shake (I can see the four pound canister sitting in your beat up Impala) talking about God know's what with your sidekick Robin in his way too tight matchy matchy outfit.

Your mothers would be embarrassed at your treatment of elders. As I walked to my car and pointed saying, "This is my car", I assumed you would understand that my tired, sweaty body was getting ready to leave. Instead you checked yourself in the mirror five more times. I'm not sure why you were checking yourself in the mirror since you literally had no hair. Again, maybe due to your crap GNC shake.

I know I sound angry but I'm really not. I'm dismayed. The fact that you and your buddy could stand in the parking lot talking with his car sitting idle directly behind mine is baffling to me.
I thought that by starting my car and putting it in reverse, you might take the hint. Maybe years of too loud music piped into your ears while you lift massive weights has made you deaf. Or maybe at some point those massive weights were dropped on your head.

Here's the kicker, when I finally got out of my car and asked you and your friend to move, I realized you were both actually employees of the gym. Bravo. Now I have your names from your cute shiny name tags. I'm pretty sure it's frowned upon to treat your guests like a nuisance to your otherwise very busy and important job.

I was a little awestruck to be in the gym last week. With all the shiny equipment, flashing televisions and never ending supplies of towels, you had me hooked. Then this morning I drove into a packed parking lot, had to witness lots of naked ladies in the locker room, felt like an out of date idiot in my one good work out shirt while all the cute thin little ladies ran a 6.30 mile in their perfectly thought out running gear. From start to finish I felt out of place, out of touch and out of breath.

The parking lot debacle left a bad feeling in my brain and a tiny bit of resentment that I'm almost 40. I'll still make it to the gym tomorrow but probably not until 1pm. I think I'll go eat a cookie now.