Observe and report

I went to the gym today.

Anyone who knows me knows that’s a big deal.

I haven’t set foot in a gym (with the intention of working out) in about 15 years.

It wasn’t concern for my padded hide that drove me there. It was concern for my slender wallet.

We joined the YMCA this summer so that Dominic and Gideon could take swimming lessons. On the tour, I saw the weight room and the class schedule, and became optimistic that I could actually start going to the gym. When they said they provided childcare, I almost shouted, “Sold!”

Well, you can guess what happened: Life intervened.

I got the renewal notice in the mail this week, and told Eddie that two weeks of swimming lessons set us back about $500.

Before I renew anything, I decided I really needed to feel the burn — and not just the burn of lost money.

The girl at the Y’s front desk had to help me get in because I couldn’t even remember our member number.

This is not me. I don't even own clothes like this.

Once inside, I dropped the kids off at “kid fit,” and I introduced myself to the elliptical machine. I managed to hang on for 45 minutes without barfing. It wasn’t the exertion, but the smell of Gramps next to me.

When I first got a whiff, I was afraid it was me. I was suitably horrified. Then Gramps sped up and moved around the air a little more. I got another snootful of the aromatic blend of sobaco and culo, with a bit of aged shirt stink for extra flavor.

And anyone who knows me knows that if I could smell it, it had to be bad.

So I fled. I rinsed off, picked up the boys, and we went swimming for a while. As we left the Y, I smiled at the girl at the front desk. Maybe she won’t have to help me next time. Yes, next time.