24 Minute Fitness

Last week I ventured back to the gym that I enthusiastically joined a month ago. When I say “joined”, I really mean being dragged along with a friend, signing up for membership, trying out the ellipse machine for about 10 minutes and then going home to watch TV. Thus, I have joined the gym. A big motivator, actually, is that fact that my company pays for a lot of the membership. I basically pay like $10 a month for a really good gym. So after flashing around my gym membership to my friends a few times, I realized that in order to pull off being a “gym-goer”, I actually had to start going to the gym.

There’s also a very weird culture at the gym. You really have to know you’re way around, and how to walk the walk and talk the talk. When I walk in to the gym, I feel like a person who walks into a Chinese restaurant and orders a hot dog. I just don’t fit in. Plus, the place is like a meat market. Little did I know that you don’t go to a nice gym dressed in pajama-esque clothes and with no make-up and your smelly old sneakers. No, going to the gym is very much about showing off.

There seem to be two types of people at my gym. People in the know and the rest of us. People in the know totally know what they’re doing and look very calm and collected in the gym, while the rest of us nerds walk around bonking into each other while searching for the bathroom. People in the know prance in and know exactly what to do with their little ID card to get them in the door in record time and on to the treadmill. They also seem to always be carrying a Nalgene bottle and a dish towel. I haven’t figured out what the dish towel is for yet, but you apparently must have one if you want to look like you know what you’re doing. These people also know how to work to machines easily.

I usually find a machine that looks the least like a torture device, then I stand on it (usually when I’m supposed to be sitting on it) and sort of wait. Isn’t it supposed to do something? There are all sorts of buttons and knobs, but how am I supposed to know what to do with them? I often press the button “Quick Start” because that sounds so easy. It’s deceptive, however. After pressing this button, it then wants you to enter your weight. How rude! That could be really embarrassing for some people! I mean, after every digit it makes a huge beep noise! Talk about broadcasting insecurities to the whole gym. So after that, it asks you all sorts of other questions that you never thought to consider. “What’s my peak desired heat rate?” Um, what’s a normal heart rate? Like two hundred? After answering a few of these questions, I begin to doubt my motives at the gym. Is this what normal people really think about when they embark on a workout? “Well, I’d better damn well achieve my desired heart rate or this is all for squat!”

After all this button pressing, I think I’m ready to start. So I start to pedal. Upon my first push of the pedal, all sorts of beeps and bleets start happening and the pedals stop. What the heck? Aren’t bike pedally machines meant for pedaling? Oh my gosh, IS THIS a bike pedal machine?! (I’m always afraid that I’ll be sitting on a machine the wrong way, like on a machine for abs, only with my feet up in the air because I think it’s for hamstrings) This pedaling is way too complicated and now I’ve angered the ProWorkout5000. What is going on?! I have a Master’s degree and this bike machine is getting the better of me.

Luckily, my gym has classes you can take for free (otherwise I would really never go). So I spent weeks considering which to take. “OK, aerobics… that sounds good. Oh wait, that’s on a Wednesday night at 6.. hmm. That might be a little tight.. I had plans with a box of cookies and the Daily Show. Oh, OK, instead I’m going to take “Low Impact 24 Cycle”. Whatever that is. Yeah, it looks like “Raven” is teaching that class at 7 on Tuesday. That works better. Oh, but wait. I was going to take a nap on my couch that day. So that won’t work.”
It went on like this for weeks. When I suddenly realized that my month’s membership was in days of expiring, and I had yet to go back since I signed up! I was sure as hell not about to let those corporate goons at the gym take another ten dollars out of my bank account without me going at least once more to look like a fool trying to figure out the weight machines.

So I went to take a pilates class. It was pretty fun actually. Now, I don’t mean the exercising part was fun. That was hard. I don’t consider anything fun that leaves you aching the next day in places that shouldn’t ache (like the archs of your feet and your elbows). The fun part was watching all the other nerds in the class displaying their weird gym behavior.

During this class, I concluded that some people really should not wear stretchy pants. In fact, most people should really not wear stretchy pants. One of whom is in the class with me every week and I call her chubby-girl. I know, I can hear the moans already. (I can hear Triathlon Jake right now, “Heath! Don’t call people chubby at the gym! You’re so mean!”) So call me what you want, but hear me out. Chubby-girl comes religiously ever week. She sits in the back corner and lies on her back and basically her purpose in coming is to watch the instructor describe the next move, and then decide it’s too hard. Every now and then I look back at her, when I’m struggling to do some insane move where I’m holding my right foot straight up in the air and my entire body weight is on my pinky toe, and she’s still lying on her back. I really haven’t seen her try anything, except for the stupid neck warm up that only involves you moving your head from side to side. And then at the end of every class, we’ll all start rolling up our mats to leave, and she’ll still be on her back. Then, after a few minutes (while I’m hiding behind the stack of free weights watching her and laughing to myself) she’ll reach for her bottle of water with so much huffing and puffing you think she’d just run in a marathon. After about half an hour, she’ll finally get up and leave to go home, where she will presumably recover from the intense workout for the rest of the week until the pilates class rolls around again.

I also think my pilates instructor makes up muscle groups. She often refers to the “cleegboid” muscle, and everyone nods along and gets into position. I must have missed the crucial day of class when we were told where this muscle group was and why I want to work on it.

I’ll keep you updated on my progress in the gym. (You know I can’t go anywhere without finding someone or something to make fun of.. .it’s how my mind works)

Congradulations, you're our 500th customer!!

Corporatesuzie is proud to announce that her blog has reached the coveted status of having been visited 500 times! (Note blog counter at the bottom of the page) Oh my gosh, this is so exciting… Wow, this is so unexpected.. um, I’d like to thank my family, who unfortunately read this blog often and ask me too many questions about it. I’d also like to thank my company’s computer, even after the harsh words I’ve exchanged with it’s spell-checker (damn red, squiggly lines!). And I’d of course like to thank my Fortune 500 company employer, for giving me all the inane tasks that give me material for this blog and for having faith in me and for consistently praising me for doing nothing whatsoever. Also thank you to my rather odd co-workers, without whom corporatesuzie wouldn’t be so riled up.

And now on to the real heros.. thank you to all my loyal readers! Well, hopefully I do in fact have loyal readers. For all I know, that blog counter could have just reached 500 based on me loading and reloading my own blog to make sure my post is in the right place and admiring my own grasp of technology.

And as a special thanks, I’d like to thank the visitor who nudged me over the edge with their visit. According to my stat counter, at 9:14:19 PM Pacific Time on Thursday, October 21st, the following person became the 500th person to visit my blog!

dyn-160-39-221-121.dyn.columbia.edu

Hmm.. who’s that? I’ve seen this IP address a lot, and at first I thought it was my sister who’s at Columbia Law school.. but there’s another address that’s for her law school that’s different than this one. When I look at the location of this person, they appear to be from a place called Sammamish, Washington, which sounds like the sort of place you have Big Foot sightings. So, whoever you are (no really, who are you?) thanks for tipping the scales! Your prize is a lifetime subscription to the fascinating life of corporatesuzie.

After doing a little research, this is quite an achievement for a rookie blogger like me. After hitting the “next blog” button a few times, I found that no other blog (in my highly scientific sampling of 3 other blogs that actually are dorky enough to have counters) have 500 hits! That’s right.. there’s one about a girl in a wheelchair who collects turtles and she only has 109 hits… haha! What a loser! Yeeeees! I beat the girl in a wheelchair!!! Who’s up for a party?!

Big Screen Dreams

Yesterday on a whim I went to Best Buy and decided I was gonna bite the bullet and get a new, big TV! I've spent too many days wandering around electronic stores, wanting a new TV but terrified that I'd get ripped off. I was sure that I’d pick out some TV and as soon as I drove away with bungees holding my new big TV down, the dorky high-school sales person would start laughing to himself about how dumb I was to buy THAT one!

So I got a Philips one (name brand only.. I wasn't gonna get stuck with some unknown brand like Fluxtor or something jazzy sounding that's total crap) and so I proudly wheeled the massive box out to my car and suddenly realized as I approached my weenie Civic that there was no earthly way this gigantic TV was going to fit in my car. Imagine my face going from a pleased grin to a sad scowl in the middle of the Best Buy parking lot. OK, now that sales person really MUST be laughing as he watched me try to deal with this one. I opened my trunk and wheeled the massive box really close to my car and then just sort of stood next to. There were lots of people in the parking lot and I was hoping one would look over and see my cleverly positioned visual reference of the giant TV box, the open tiny trunk, and then me, which was meant to evoke a reaction of “THAT box? In THAT trunk? And THAT little girl? There’s no way!!! I must help her!” So I just stood there for a while, and no one came to my rescue! So I had to go back into Best Buy like someone who totally hadn’t planned their purchase and ask for some help. They paged someone named Domino to help me and I went out to stand my car and wait expectantly.

A few minutes later some thuggy looking guy in street clothes wandered over and said, “Is this your car?” I gave him my best raised eyebrow look of contempt and I was like “Um yes buddy, and kindly step away. While my car is not that exciting and can’t hold a box larger than a bread-box, it’s very cute and loyal and I love it, so kindly leave me alone.” He sort of stood there for another minute and I was about to say “OK, now shoo! Go rob a liquor store or something!” And suddenly I realized this was Domino. Oh crap. Luckily he had no hard feelings, probably because he didn’t understand what I’d said, and he tossed the TV in my car with ease like it was a crumb on his sleeve that he was flicking off.

So I proudly hopped back into my trusty steed and sped of into the sunset and quickly came to my next hurdle. About a mile from home I suddenly thought “How am I gonna get this TV into my apartment?!” I realized I have one possession with wheels that might help me out, so my next plan is the push my giant new TV into my apartment using a dinky IKEA TV stand made for the size TV that you have in your kitchen that you watch the today show on while brushing your teeth. The plan was marvelous. I wheeled the cart to my car and started to lift the TV onto it. Wow. A big TV is really heavy. After a few minutes I started to question all my hours of time spent at the gym and was beginning to wish I could call up Domino for some help. Just then, as if on cue, it started to pour with rain. OK, this is miserable. “Curse thee, Best Buy!!” I shouted, fist clenched, to the heavens. Now with renewed strength and fiery hatred for strong people, I heaved the TV onto the stand and wheeled it down the rainy path for my apartment. I was careful however, to not hit an unexpected speed bump and send the new TV flying into a heap of broken parts, to which I would have collapsed in tears and admitted defeat.

I then heaved the TV into my living room and proudly sat back to admire my brand new, wet TV. It’s beautiful. Sometimes I don’t even turn it on, I just stare at it and admire it. Maybe I’m just proud that I proved that a single, little girl can do anything if she really really wants the people’s head’s on the next episode of The Apprentice to be actual size. It’s amazing how much you can love a hunk of machinery that almost killed you.

October 19, 2004 - Rain, rain, go away... no wait, stay!

It rained today... can you believe it? We went a record 182 days without rain so far this year and apparently God thought that was too damn staggering a statistic (although I doubt God would use the word damn) and so he decided to open the heavens in a torrential downpour of defiance… right when I was walking along the street en route to the bank.

I purposely set out when it wasn’t raining and braved the outdoors sans umbrella. Within moments I was drenched like a drowned rat and had to seek refuge in an eerily empty coffee shop, which I must say upon further inspection is clinging to life by the skin of it’s overpriced biscotti. The guy behind the counter seemed shocked to suddenly have this wet little girl appear in his doorway and stared at me for a good minute. I stared back at him. Crap. I’m gonna have to buy something. So I wiped the rain water from my forehead and pretended I had just sauntered in to grab a cup of coffee on my way to important, non-wet activities. (Yeah, this was totally a planned trip to my local coffee shop… oh, is it raining? Huh, well look at that, it is.) I’m sure plenty of high powered business types have wrung their hair out on his doormat. I casually walked up to counter and tried not to make eye contact and pretended I was studying the menu on the wall. Eventually I had to order something, after he had to ask me to move since I was creating a puddle.

I still had to make it back to work though, so now I was sleeting down the street with a some unknown coffee drink in my hand, trying not to slip on the metal grates and having this whole ordeal end in splattered Heather covered in gooey, unwanted coffee. I finally made it inside, to the elevator, and to my floor, upon which I wanted to stop and stand in the foyer and just yell “waaaah!” I was wet and mad. But I’m over it now.. I’ve been using the coffee station napkins as towels to mop up the little puddles I seem to leave everywhere.

Looking out the window right now, the rain is actually going sideways. Sideways! This isn’t normal. All I’m saying is if it’s still sideways-raining when it’s 5 o’clock and time for me to walk to my car, I’d rather hang out downstairs in the mailroom and share a cup of tea with Bob the mail guy and wait, rather than have rainwater squirted into my eyes and ears by this record breaking rain storm.

However, I would like to get home. Weather like this doesn’t come very often, and once I’ve cursed my way through it while walking to my car and cursed my way through it while driving in my car, I would like to curl up and enjoy it when I’m home. Weather like this can be great. Blustery weather like this can make you feel like lighting a fire and drinking hot cocoa. Plus, it gives you an excuse to use words like blustery.

Somehow, working during this kind of weather seems strange. I feel like we shouldn’t be working, it’s raining outside! I think I’m proving myself once again to be the youngest person on the floor… I keep waiting for someone to come over the loud speaker and say "Rainy day schedule!" and everyone cheers and we all start a rousing game of Heads-Up 7-Up.

Heather's Daily Digression - October 18, 2004

Today I was called into the manager's office. Scary? No way. Maybe if this had happened a few months ago where at every turn I was terrified of being fired, I would have been scared. But not now. I’m settling back into my position as the “ain’t goin no where” girl. I ain’t going no where. So I went into my bosses office and put my feet up on her desk, and waited to hear what she wanted to say.

It turns out they want to move me to a new department! Actually, it’s the same department, just a different “group” and totally new work! They felt I wasn’t being challenged enough and even apologized for not teaching me enough yet! (See what I mean? I ain’t going no where..) My boss added that, since I’m in the “rotation program” for new graduates, she wants to “rotate” me. Yeah. Ok. That’s cute. But I’m not a bike wheel... I’m an accountant. But whatever, I’m moving on up! Well, kind of. This “major move” involves shifting cubicles approximately ten feet to the left.

So sadly there aren’t gonna be any long goodbyes and emphatic packing of frames into cardboard boxes. There will be no good-bye lunches or tearful hugs. There will be no catered brunches in the conference room where we go around the room and all say our favorite thing that Heather has brought to this department. No. Instead, I’ll gather what belongings I have in a burlap sack and move to the far less desirable, much more manager prone, new cubicle. (Hey, I’d better be able to take my chair with me!)

It’s an exciting move for me, but I bet no one else will even notice. It’ll be more like someone walks by my old desk and says “Hey, where’s that red head girl?” And I’ll say (from ten feet to the left) “Over here” and they’ll say “Oh, Ok.” And carry on with their day. And if I’m feeling really bold I’ll add “And I’m not a red head!!!” And then duck back into my new cubicle.

The only thing that’s really changing is my email signature. (For those less savvy, the email signature is what the nerdiest in the biz put at the bottom of all emails. We’re required to have one that tells our title and stuff. So then when you write some bitch out email to another department for not having their stuff done in time, you can be all “You need to get your act together! Have those reconciliations on my desk!” And they totally hate you.. then they keep reading and at the bottom, in a friendly, purple font, it says “Sincerely, Heather” and then they like you again)

So anyway, my signature right now reflects my feelings on my department.
It’s currently:

Heather
“Go-Fetch” Girl
Poopy Department
7th Floor
Awesomest cubicle ever

And now it’s going to be

Heather
Totally Important Girl
Serious and Challenging Department
7th Floor
Poopiest cubicle ever

After hearing about this new move and the fact that they thought I wasn’t being “challenged enough” I started to think they were reading my mind. Then when they said sorry for not teaching me enough I started to think they were reading my blog! Seriously, they addressed all my ranting about my current job and made them better! What if they ARE reading my blog? No way. However, I did become a little more suspicious when my boss said, as I was leaving, “I’m sure guy-with-an-accent will miss you!” Oh no!

Heather's Daily Digression - October 14, 2004

It’s always a little weird to see co-workers outside of work. It seems unnatural to see someone you work with outside of their natural habitat…that being work. I would like to think that I’m the only one with a life outside work. Everyone else is just in the office all day and then come night time, they roll out a sleeping bag on the office floor and go to sleep. I don’t like the idea of my co-workers lurking around on the street where they might run into me. That opens up the possibility of an awkward run-in with me.

Today I was walking back from lunch and I saw my old-lady co-worker walking towards me. So I stopped and said and enthusiastic “Hi!” But she just kept on walking. I sort of turned and watched her walk past me. “Hi?” I said again… OK, either she totally just blew me off (but what reason would old-lady-office-worker have to dislike me?) or she just didn’t see me and I can just keep walking and pretend this never happened. So that’s what I did. We shall never speak of this again.