At-Home Workouts

I work out at home. I do this for several reasons, the most important of which is that I don’t ever have to wear a shirt. 

        

Most of the time, working out at home is great. I can set the thermostat to WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT.

I can listen to good music, instead of whatever garbage Lady GaGa is producing with a weird techno remix beat.

I don’t have to ever, ever, EVER try to do those horrible class things.

And I never get hit on while I’m sweaty and disgusting and not interested.

What.

So working out at home is mostly great. But for a few... things.

I’ve lost whatever moderate dignity might come from being forced to sweat in the proximity of strangers. Where once I used to wear clothes, I’ve completely abandoned the effort. Shoes? Forget it. Why bother?!

I have also taken to abandoning any amount of respectful quietude you might expect during your workout session. Example:

I sometimes use the Wii working out games. These things are great -- they kick my butt, I work up a sweat, but because I’m working out at home, alone, I feel that it’s entirely okay to shriek like a sailor when I’m about to collapse or the Wii didn’t like whatever move I just did.

And since I get to pick whatever music I listen to, I have a tendency to sing along. Of course, I don’t sing anywhere near the written octave. Because I’m a soprano. Who is singing along while she’s sweating on an elliptical.

Of course, the most frequent thing that happens while I’m “working out” is this rapid degeneration of the workout into me dancing around in my underwear -- after all, I get to listen to music I love. Why not pretend I’m at some really kickin’ ball and just spin in circles, round and round?

I’m also accosted by cats while I workout, another peril of the at-home gym. My workout time seems to, no matter what time I work out, collide with the Gingercat’s hug-gy-happy-love time.