Bad. Ass. Dimples.

Whoever said dimples are cute has obviously not seen the ones on my ass. I was prepared for many things when I hit and rolled over 40; gray hair, saggy stomach, laugh lines, but I gotta say ass dimplage wasn’t even on the radar!

I have to admit, I haven’t exactly been pushing myself the last few years. I work out regularly but I eat and drink enough to cancel out my efforts. Yes I have stamina, but I also have ass dimples.

After my wine and food binge this weekend I was in a rush to get back to the gym. While dressing I quickly realized that in my gluttony haze over the weekend I neglected to do my laundry. I had one pair of shorts to wear to step class. Light grey, cheap material; I think I actually paid $7 for them. I hate them, but they had to do. Flash backs of the McDonald’s I’d inhaled in the Sobeys parking lot yesterday (don’t judge) shamed me into them.

Today is my new beginning. My fifth new beginning this year! I put on the shorts and got to the gym all motivated and repeating positive mantras to myself.

Nothing changes if nothing changes. You have to be strong. Only good things to eat; No alcohol (Lord help me). I know what you’re going to say; One glass of red wine is good for you. Well, here’s a heads up; I can’t drink just one glass of wine. I don’t see the point. I’m very much the same with chips. If the bag/bottle is open, I’m done. No self control. And if I start in with the wine, then the carbs are only moments behind. I like a little bread to soak up the alcohol.

Achem, where was I? Right…

At the gym the regulars gave me the once over and I took my punishment and held my head low as I got set up. The instructor was petite and I noted, older than me. It was then that I made the biggest mistake a person can make when getting back to the gym; Never ever underestimate the abilities of someone older than you. She ripped her jacket off to reveal a stomach so tight I think I gasped out loud. I never knew a stomach like that was possible at her age. Magnificent! That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to work out so hard people are going to gasp when I walk in a room. Of course, it didn’t occur to me this woman has been doing this for years, is extremely dedicated and probably doesn’t drink a bottle of wine and wash it down with a jumbo bag of Lays…but I digress.

So we get going and I’m feeling pretty good. Some of the routine was complicated and involved but I managed. And I think at one point I actually smiled. I was swirling around that step like no body’s business, that is, until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Now I know, it’s a classic mistake but it happened and I can’t take it back. Clearly, I wasn’t as smooth as I felt. Just as I was doing the “revolving door” I saw my ass in these cheap shorts and there it was… A huge butt crater.  I wish I was kidding. It is gianormous and glaringly obvious in the pale coloured pants. I’m the first one to say Lulu Lemon is way over priced, but at least I can’t see butt dimples in them and to me that’s worth the $1000 dollars a pair!

Horrified, I beat hell out of there and went home to stare in judgement at my naked self. I think I actually pulled a back muscle twisting around. As it turns out I just don’t have one, but several.

Oh. My. God. How did this happen? I mean, they had to have been there for a while but I normally don’t go inspecting my ass cheeks on a regular basis. Why hadn’t Homer said anything? Oh, poor Homer! How do I get rid of them? Will diet work? Is there a wrinkle cream for dimpled asses?  Botox?  I always said I wouldn’t go the Botox route, I don’t want to look frozen but does it matter if my ass has no expression? I think not! In fact, it might give it a lift. Am I the only one who has thought of this?

Now I’m trying to talk myself back into a positive state of mind by looking for a bright side, but for the life of me I can’t come up with one situation where someone would want to have ass dimples.

Ughh, I gotta go make an egg white omelette and eat it with NO BREAD..sigh

Spinning Out Of Control

I was late. My heart accelerated the closer I got.

Please let me get there before her.

I pull into the parking lot, park and grab my water bottle, towel and gym membership. I speed walk to the front doors, scan my membership and bolt through the security doors. Out of breath before I even start.

I’m first! Yay me! 

I scored my favourite bike at Spinning class. I had won the race before my butt even had a chance to get chaffed from the seat and it felt awesome.

The same woman and I have been doing the dance with this particular bike for five weeks. She knows it and I know it. There are at least 25 bikes to choose from and the max number of people who have ever attended a class are six. So there is no doubt we have fallen for the same cycle.

Nothing hurts more than walking in to see her sitting pretty on my ride. Don’t get me wrong, I have no ill will toward this woman, as far as I know she could be a fabulous human being, a real Mother Teresa, but at that moment only one word comes to mind.


And today, when she rounded the corner smiling at me and began adjusting a less superior bike I knew what was on her mind.

Right back at ya.

I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, I do have bigger things to worry about considering I left my job 3 months ago and money is a little tight. But if you’re thinking that all bikes are the same (like I did in the beginning) then you would be wrong. It’s like sleeping in a strange bed; it’s just not the same. Besides, it’s not just the bike, it’s
where it’s positioned; just slightly off center to the instructor, close enough to hear but far enough away that she can’t tell when I’m not increasing my resistance as much as I should. And most important, it’s right underneath the fan, which is the ultimate bonus.

I know, it’s a little foolish. When I first started, I was stunned at the fanatical relationships people had with particular bikes. The class was clicky. I felt like I was back at school. One man would actually elbow you if you so much as looked at his bike. And if you were a newbie and accidentally saddle up on his baby, he would stare you down until you got so uncomfortable that you would never show your face there again.

They scared me, but luckily now that I’m unemployed (I’m grasping for upsides here) I don’t have to go to that crazy ass class anymore. I can go to a morning class, where people are calmer because the day hasn’t beat the snot out of them yet. We are nice to each other and don’t announce any distain for not getting our favourite bike. We suffer in silence like adults.

A different crazy ass group where our only oddity is the older gentleman who wears his racquetball goggles during class; which I find more eccentric than psychotic given that I’ve never ever seen him with a racquet or a ball.  Maybe he’s been around the block
for a while and wears the goggles for protection in case he mistakenly takes someone else’s ride.

On a side note, I wouldn’t be surprised if he also sports a cup. He’s just that kind of guy.

You know what’s funny? Not getting my bike is more distracting than having
racquetball man beside me conquering his highest mountain for 60 minutes.

Enough said.