I DON'T GLOW...

You know the phrase "Horses sweat, men perspire, ladies glow"?  Well I must be a freaking Clydesdale.  Never in my life have I glowed.

I don't participate in group exercise for this very reason. Why, oh why would I want more than a dozen people at a time to see the sweat stains that evolve in ever-increasing circles from my armpits - sometimes ending up at my waist?  Not to mention under my breasts and down my back.

I ride the stationary bikes.  They are in the darkest corner of the Y where no one ever turns on the lights.  (This is good for me, because the well-lit part of the Y has lots of ceiling fans that create a near-strobe effect - which has a tendency to throw those susceptible to migraines into that fugue-like aura state.)  In the dark recesses of the stationary bikes cavern, I climb onto a recumbent cycle.  I set up my program (Fitness Level 2) - the slightly hilly one - and I enter a starting level of 6 and usually a time of 45 minutes.  I then prop the Android Tablet onto the control panel, plug in my headphones and begin to pedal my ass off - or at least that's the theory.  I watch tv shows upon the tablet - sometimes Grey's Anatomy, sometimes Buffy - this week it's the 2nd season of Downton Abbey (another tasty bit of television).  Watching these shows almost distracts me from the fact that I am near death and sweating like a Clydesdale.

After I warm up, at five minute intervals I change my pedal level.  I vacillate between 8 and 11 - if I don't feel like I'm really going to die, I might go up to 12.  If I were to attempt this without a tv show to distract me - I don't think I could manage it.  Books are okay, but they don't do the same job as a visual stimulus.  It's all about misdirection.  Instead of giving in to the urge to vomit/pass out, I pay attention to a neuro surgeon/vampire/head housekeeper.  Pretty costumes, drama, camp - it's all misdirection.  When my time is up I'm dripping with sweat, my red hair looks black for its moisture and I'm panting like a rabid dog - but I HAVE survived!!!

After I've finished, I then make the trek through the well-lit part of the exercise centre.  My t-shirt usually drenched to a deeper shade of whatever colour it started out as.  My flushed cheeks giving off that 'just slapped' Fifth's Disease vibe.  And my ass... Yes, my ass - I somehow manage to consistently have a large circular wet spot on my black yoga capris - in the middle of which is a completely dry heart shape.  That's what I try to leave people with as I depart the Y.  I look at it as my gift to the masses.  The non-Clydesdale people who don't look like they're verging on a heart attack as they spend their 1/2 hour on the stairmaster.    I brighten everyone's day - with that dry heart on my ass.