Family Fitness

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I hate the gym. I hate the way I feel when I go in there, the blank stares on people's faces, the abject sweaty misery. The smell. Everyone is checking everyone out, but in a sad and lonely sort of way. There is very little natural light that penetrates that place, they stock the magazine rack with Playboy, and the toilets are a weird skin color.

In fact, I dislike going to the gym so much that my year-long membership--the one I paid for up front in 2009-- expired in July and I only just realized it in November.  Which means it was probably sometime back in April that I last graced the establishment with my presence.

And yet, I live in Chicago. The weather here is pretty unfortunate from about December until April, at least to those who prefer to do their exercise outdoors. While there is something admittedly exhilarating about a cold winter's run, I'm usually too busy sitting on my couch, watching my jeans get tighter.

Until recently, Bela and Mae shared my hate for the fitness center, albeit for different reasons. Mae just hates to be away from me, locked in a room where she can see me but can't ask me to do anything for her. It's against her nature. Plus she wasn't big enough to make it to the top of the slide thing, and would just get stuck inside the weird indoor jungle gym. The minute I would pull into the gym's parking lot she would start screaming, and after several trips where I had to peel her off my leg and exit the daycare running, I just gave up.

Bela is much more easy going than Mae, but she had her own gripe with the place. You see, the one area where Chris and I have succeeded in our parenting goals is that we have kept Bela almost 100% innocent. One consequence of this is that she hates scary movies. And by scary, I mean Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. All versions.

One day last winter I dropped Bela (age 4) and Mae ( 2 years young)  off so I could go sweat, stare, and feel bad about myself. When I went to pick them up, Bela was traumatized. She had just sat through 45 minutes of Tim Burton's interpretation of Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I myself have never seen that version, but apparently the scene with the squirrels just sent her over the edge. After we got home, after she stopped crying, she actually asked me to call the gym and tell them that the movie made her feel sick, that she was scared, and that she never wanted them to play it again. I obliged and she sat witness to the phone call. Several months later, or rather, the next time I visited the gym, I walked through the play center's doors only to find they were playing it. Again. This time, Bela took charge of her mental well-being and requested they turn off the T.V.

Recently, things have changed around here, in all sorts of ways. First, Chris goes to the gym all the time. Second, Mae can manage her way through the indoor play land, and isn't so much upset as mildly irritated at being separated from me. But most shockingly, Bela does not get sick to her stomach by the gym's questionable taste in movies.

Yesterday we all went to the gym before dinner--a family fitness trip, if you will. Chris biked and swam, I ran on the treadmill, and Bela and Mae spent the time watching....are you ready for it? Goonies.

There was no vomiting, no tears, no letter to the manager. She seemed to be completely unaffected by whole ordeal. I, on the other hand, felt completely distressed. Not only is my little girl is growing up, it looks like I'll be visiting the gym even more frequently.