I hate anything new, unless it comes in a gift box or a shopping bag. A brand-new, unspoiled pan of gorgeous eyeshadow – a winner. Likewise, I usually can’t wait to snip the tags on a new top and wear it right away.

But pretty much anything else sends me spiraling into a chocolate binge.

Our local mall is undergoing a complete facelift. They just added a huge section of stores, and they are gutting and replacing the inside before our very eyes. Some merchants have left; some are moving… but it’s really an entirely new shopping experience.

My younger daughter hates it. She firmly stakes claim to “her” mall, and she doesn’t want them messing with it, no matter how much nicer it may be in the long run.

My son even seems a bit rattled by the changes. He wants to make sure they will still have a fountain somewhere to catch his pennies, and he’s very concerned that Santa will maintain a place of honor during the holidays.

The gym is the only local place I visit more than the mall. (And lately, I think the mall is winning the count.) I loved my old gym. I felt the energy in there, radiating from the soft yellow walls the first time I set foot in the place. I had my routine… I could walk my circuit without thinking. I have my favorite group fitness teacher, whom I love and adore, and oh how I appreciate someone who has a sense of rhythm and can keep the movements precisely to the beat of the music. (It really drives me nuts when teachers can’t do that – I won’t go back to their classes.)

But now… there’s the new gym.

And I say that with both an edge of excitement in my voice, and also a bit of eye-rolling and upper-lip twitching.

It’s a beautiful place, with state-of-the-art equipment and 5-star comfort. It has opportunities that my other gym did not, including the fact that I could sign up my 14-year-old as a member. They have 3 class studios and 2 pools. They will have other classes for younger members of the family, like Karate Kids, and family swim time on the weekends (but oh, dear lord, don’t make me put on a bathing suit in my own community right now.)

I will say that during my final week at the old place, I knew one thing I would not miss a bit, and that was the two women who worked out there who thought they were the center of the universe. It was social hour for them. They both had beautiful figures, but when they opened their dainty little mouths… ugh. Fran Drescher. Times two. Amplified by a thousand. I honestly felt my heart-rate increase when I saw them. I would move to another part of the gym. I would leave. I would pray to god they didn’t come to a treadmill anywhere near me, where I would have to listen to “oh… my… gawd!” in that nasal, aggressive, horrible twang of a New York accent.

Wouldn’t you know… they were among the first people I saw at the new place on the opening day? Geesh.

On one hand, it does provide a strange sense of familiarity which might actually make this tough transition a little easier.

I have been consistent with my workouts this week – I tried some new classes – and right now, I can barely sit or walk up stairs. But it’s a good pain, you know? The kind that makes you feel alive, and like you’ve done something so incredibly good for your body. My spine feels longer. And even though I was mentally cursing drill-sargeant Gigi in the L.A.B. class (legs, abs and butt), I will return for more punishment next week, because I think that thong-wearing skinny-minnie is going to be instrumental in getting my fat ass back in shape.

It’s still discovery time at the new gym. I walk in and try not to look around too desperately, you know, like I know exactly where I’m going. Which is so stupid, because none of us really does. We’re all new. They just opened the place last week. I have to find a new favorite locker area… a new favorite treadmill section… new spots on the floor of my classes that will eventually become “my space.”

Change… sigh… sometimes even when it’s for my better good, it just stresses the hell out of me.

So… which class shall I try today? Hmm… looks like good ‘ole Gigi has a cycling class this morning. Somebody just shoot me now.

2 Comments on “Change Resistant

  1. Sometimes I have trouble visiting the little town I grew up in — it’s changed so much that it depresses me a little.My old gym changed several years ago. They moved out of a store front (that was perfectly fine and gave the place a nice gym look) into a building they built. The new place was sparkly, and fine, and I adapted … but it took a while before I quit missing the old building.I resist change to the point that I refuse to go to clipless pedals on my bike; I still have one of those metal-cage things that I slip my shoes into. (Rather than think I’m a grumpy old man who refuses to accept newer technology, I like to believe I’m just ‘retro.’)


  2. LOL… šŸ™‚Thanks, Delmer. I consider myself a bit of a gadget girl these days, but you wouldn’t believe how long it took me to finally get an answering machine for my phone in the 80’s. I thought it was so impersonal. And my first one was a gift from someone who was tired of having the phone ring and ring when I wasn’t home. Now what would I do without my voicemail? šŸ™‚Lisa


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