Tuesdays with Allie

In my book, there’s never been anything special about Tuesdays.

Mondays beg to be hated. Usually a painful mixture of meetings and hangovers, every Monday you make it through is like a tiny victory. And at least Mondays have football for a few months of the year.

Wednesday is, of course, “hump day.” And back in the day, Wednesdays were ski days at Massanutten.

How can you hate on a Thursday, the official (if you’re in college, or like me and most people with whom I choose to associate) start to the weekend? It’s widely understood that late Friday mornings receive automatic forgiveness.

Fridays, my loves. I used to save my coolest outfits for Fridays. In middle school, I would wear my purple Guess jeans and silk printed shirt...and in high school I graduated to my UVA sweatshirt with my dad’s old ripped Levis. Now it doesn’t really matter what I’m wearing, so long as there’s a cold beer waiting at the end of the day. Which there always is.

Tuesdays? Now, OK, there are “Twofer Tuesday” things...drink specials and (long ago) radio plays. But that’s about it.

This past Tuesday was especially wah waaaahhhh.

So I’m running in this Warrior Dash. (I still have yet to come up with an outfit - suggestions are welcome.) After weeks of procrastination (which I have turned into productivity, so bite me), I set my alarm for 5 a.m. and dragged my happy ass out of bed. I knew from the beginning there was no way I was going to work out after a 10-hour day at the office when I could be drinking, so the butt-crack of dawn it is.

When I arrived at Globo Gym, I realized I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. Some of you might not know this, but I used to be a pretty hard-core swimmer, and a hard-core swimming program includes weight training. But that was a lifetime ago, and even back then, I wasn’t a gym rat. I tend to be more of a “just make sure you don’t eat too much McDonald’s” girl.

However, I had a little motivation after attending my “Fit Test,” a free perk thrown in for joining Globo Gym. For this “Fit Test,” I met Linda, an adorable Asian 20-something in a windbreaker and tight black pants who confided that she was embarrassed about her panty lines on her fat-free ass...tee hee hee! She seemed surprised when I told her I was 30, was impressed with my flexibility and strength, and even called me thin at one point. When I found out we both graduated from UTA, I really thought we were bonding. Wow, it was so easy to make new besties! When it came time for my assessment, I didn’t sweat it, piece of cake, heck, I probably didn’t even need a gym membership. Dun dun dunnnnn. Linda stopped smiling, her eyes glowed red...and I think she started growling. The print-out indicated that I needed to lose 10 pounds, my flexibility and strength are “less than optimal,” and while I technically have the body of a 28-year old (yes I will be using that line at the bar), ideally I need to have the body of an 18-year old at my age. “It’s OK, though,” Linda assured me. “We have great trainers here, and you’ll see results in no time.” As I left hurriedly with my fat ass and my print-out with the break-down of the $276 a month trainer fees (and no new bestie), I got to suspecting that maybe that “Fit Test” was a way to make money...

So here I was on my first official workout (sans-trainer). After battling with the fancy ID card-locker-key release mechanism (wow, I’m dumb) for about 10 minutes, I grabbed a towel and made my way out of the locker room. Because I have this grueling 3 (point-something)-mile race coming up, I assumed the most natural place to start out would be the treadmill. Looking around, I realized I was carrying a bath towel. Not that I was self-conscious at that point. I found the nearest - and most remote - treadmill, and hopped up.

Treadmills have really advanced since I’ve last used one, I guess? What happened to the ones with just the metal rollers that had no buttons? Do they not have those any more? I pressed “On.” Lights came on. OK, good start. Why was the tread not milling? Hmmmm. Commence pressing all buttons in sequence. I just pictured myself hitting the “eject” button (they do have those on treadmills, right?) and flying off the back. I finally got that figured out and started running...”running.” Jog-walking. Realized I forgot my iPod, started thinking about it, tripped over my own foot on the treadmill....yeah, try looking cool tripping on a treadmill.

After a tough 12-minute jog-walk, it was off to the free weight area with the big boys. Surrounded by pairs of spandex-clad ripped chicks tossing medicine balls to one another and doing leaping lunges, I grabbed the girlie weights and fumbled through a few of the arm exercises I remember from my athletic days before booking back to the locker room.

There was one fully naked woman in the whole locker room. One. And I tried to open the wrong locker right next to her. So I got an awkward face full of boob, mumbled something about a broken locker key, and slinked into the next row.

Exit gym.

Work.

7 p.m. Walmart. I'm choosing floss. A voice behind me asks, “Excuse me, do you work here?”

“Huh? No.”

“Oh, well I’m just looking for the Band-Aids.”

Sigh. “Next aisle.”

“Thanks.”

I guess I could have put a little more thought into my outfit that day, yes. I'm not your typical Dallas girl. This is proving to be problematic dating-wise. Since, you know, I currently live in Dallas. Aside from the fact that I'm getting older, I can't honestly post any photos that look remotely like this:

Mine are more like this:

Except sans boobies.

And I'm also growing out my hair, which I know guys just love. Remember when Katie Holmes chopped her locks? Well, I followed suit a few months later. (But guess which one of us can afford extensions.) So now I'm feelin' Katie in her painful grow-out period.

Please be a pal and keep me away from salons and sharp objects.

Google "Why Tuesdays suck" for proof that they do.