At the track this evening, I did an interval workout because I was tired from cleaning Ralphie’s room and I needed to adjust to the altitude. I enjoy going to the track because there are a lot of people of all ages and sizes there doing a variety of athletic activities. Tonight, there was a group of women in their forties working out with a couple of very buff coaches. On my ninth or tenth lap they jokingly asked me to join them.
It turns out they were part of something called Crossfit. I’ve heard of this, but have never really understood what it is. They invited me to come to their “Share the Pain” class this weekend, which I guess is a free trial.
I’d like to go, but here is my dilemma:
I have two pairs of exercise pants that fit me. I stupidly painted in one pair not thinking that I would back into a wall of wet paint or need a place to wipe my hands when the edger thing fell in the paint can. The other pair is falling apart at the inseam (both legs) and being held together with safety pins. Those of you who knew my father are having an “Aha” moment right now (I know I am).
I am not going to buy new pants because I have at least 20 pairs of perfectly fine exercise pants in my drawers which do not fit me (now that would be a good place for a teenager to hide something he didn’t want his mother to find!). I’m thinking I’ll just go with the ripped pants – ahh the joys of 50.