Monday, March 25, 2013

If I weren't ridiculously honest with you people, I would say that yesterday I went to celebrate Giusy's promotion at the fancy gym spa with Serena yesterday and it was a heavenly, stress free experience. But that is not even really blog worthy. So here's the truth. After I taught 13 people the stuff I spent twelve hours memorizing --actually it was twelve people, but I lied on the form -- I waited for my friends in the lobby. I took them upstairs to the gym part where I finally learned how to use some of the postural stretching machines that actually are heavenly and then I taught the girls to treadmill dance. We had a great time and I didn't find out until today that I re-injured my tendon. We had a great time and then I gave them massages using my special patented technique that I stole from an accupressure masseuse and Yamuna Body Rolling videos. Then it got complicated as I knew it would.

It turns out that I have had full access to the spa and swimming pool this whole time and that my colleagues hang out there steaming and swimming all day long without me, but nobody told me anything. Anyway, the spa experience was worse than my stress nightmares where I am wearing a bathing suit in front of a ton of perfectly toned people and praying that my Revlon colorstay foundation kept my acne scars hidden. This is harder than it looks while your really skinny friends who can eat anything that they want because of god given high metabolisms and are not fitness professionals are pushing you under six kinds of showers and steam rooms. I was so stressed out from craning my neck and angling my face away from all the many forms of h2o shooting at me from every angle that I was almost looking forward to the massages that I had booked for us. But then I remembered that you have to get naked. And it is bad enough to do it in front of someone you are never going to see again, but in front of a coworker?

The spa at work is not restful as the bulging beige poster of me is everywhere and I felt like I kept getting recognized. I kept running back to the closet that passes as the instructors' changing room to check that my scars were still covered and to get the little magnetic bracelet to let my friends in and out of the maze of doors while trying to avoid as many coworkers as possible. At one point I bumped into the Jack LaLaine looking guy who wears speedos and a unitard most of the time and the young girl who hates me (so far I have done nothing to her except exist) and that barre core teacher who was wearing almost nothing. They had no cellulite and no fat and the bikini clad one wore no makeup. They looked like they had been retouched. i could not keep my eyes off them. Jack LaLaine usually doesn't even respond when I say hello to him because they took away the Friday morning lesson from him to give it to me, but I didn't know that until recently. And also that is so not my fault.  They were talking about a staff meeting for tomorrow night that no one had told me about. I asked if I could get a ride with them as the meeting is in a nearby hotel and I don't drive. The girls left and I didn't realize that the shower curtain behind which I was quickly changing so that Giusy wouldn't miss her train back to Firenze was partly opened until I heard him chuckling to himself. Nice. On my way home I got a text from my boss saying that I didn't have to go to the meeting even though the entire staff of the club is going. Bad Sign. I really don't think they are planning to renew my contract in September. Too bad my face is like this or I could at least get a bunch of free spa time until they let me go. Even though after last Friday morning's disaster lesson, this one woman who wants me to help her open a tourist business with her said she would talk to the boss on my behalf.

I had to promise a private massage and lesson to this lecherous, old guy who ended up being in the hydrotub later just to get him to stop talking to me. This is unfortunate because he is not a good candidate for my method and I am not allowed to give massages. Apparently foreign languages don't inhibit my speaking without thinking mechanism. The real masseuse is this cute young guy who I really did not want to be basically naked in front of even if I was somewhat under a terry cloth towel. My friends apparently wore these paper thongs, but they looked complicated and unpleasant so I stuck with my granny sized bikini bottoms which he later, to my mortification, folded down into thirds. I'm sure other people know how to enjoy massages, but I spent the majority of my fifteen minutes wondering if I had any zits on my butt. Between craning my neck trying not to have my steamy, foundation filled face stick to the crunchy paper around the hole in the massage table and the general awkwardness of having this guys oily hands on my midsection, I think I am the first person in the world to leave that table with more stress than when I first smooshed myself onto it.

My friends had a lovely time. We had lunch in the cafè where I actually ate something for the first time and it was all light and delicate stuff that was very well prepared. I had a carrot sformatino. I got the picture of the three of us framed and made the card. Today I can't walk because of my tendon pain. Tonight I have to teach a lesson that is up against a party where they are serving alcohol downstairs and where they have hired a DJ. Who in their right mind is going to come upstairs to workout with me so they can move their arms in time to my carefully choreographed Nsync number? I am actually thinking about getting sloshed and joining them if I don't get anyone upstairs. Everyone who goes upstairs is planning on taking class with the curly haired teacher who now sees me as so little a threat that she has taken up blowing kisses at me. Another new little factoid a colleague shared with me is that we get extra points from the boss if we walk around the main weights room inviting people to take our class. I would rather poke needles in my eyes.

And that is how I made a pledge to give up sugar this month. So far I have made it seven hours. It is going to be a shitty, long week.

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