I used to faithfully go to the gym every Thursday night, from 10-11 PM. See, they have three televisions there, and it was the only way I could watch The Mentalist, The Apprentice, and Private Practice at the same time. I’d grab my popcorn and my smoothie and park myself on the treadmill that had the best view of all three sets. It’s a little uncomfortable sitting cross-legged on a treadmill, and the other two people who would be at the gym at that ungodly hour would give me dirty looks, but I figured they couldn’t say much because at least I was eating healthy snacks. (Okay, I will admit it now, my smoothie recipe calls for strawberry ice cream instead of fresh fruit, but those crazy exercise fanatics at the gym didn’t know that. Unless the bottle of chocolate syrup gave it away.)
But alas, since chipping off pieces of my kneecap, I have been unable to continue my athletic pursuits. It’s been a real heartbreaker, as I had to give up one of my Thursday night shows (luckily, The Apprentice stunk like a bag of week-old chicken bones, so the decision was easy). Now I have to tape Private Practice on the DVR while watching Patrick Jayne, all from the trappings of my luxurious bed. Sure, it’s annoying to have to snap my fingers and ask Jason to bring me another smoothie every 15 minutes, since he doesn’t have the speed and agility I did in my athletic days, and he seems to have a real attitude about it. I had to send him back to the blender twice last week because he forgot the chocolate syrup.
I suppose my triathlon days are over (you know, jogging for cookies, swimming through jellyfish, and biking – ah, who am I kidding? I haven’t sat on a bike in years.) It’s been a rough adjustment, but I’m trying to be brave.
*snap* *snap* Oh, darling! Another smoothie! Pronto!