fighting the past
I PULLED INTO THE GOLD’S GYM parking lot, but I didn’t get out of the car. Michelle, a mom from my daughter’s middle school, had invited me to spin class. “Come as my guest,” she said. “Grab a bike. See if you like it.”
No big deal, right? Except I hadn’t been to a gym in more than 15 years and was terribly out of shape. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to exercise and take better care of my body. But every time I thought about it, something kept me from taking that first step. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
A perky gal in her thirties sashayed past my car, wearing fluorescent purple leggings with a matching print top. She looked as if she’d stepped off the cover of magazine. I slunk down in my seat and pulled my ball cap over my eyes. I thought. Slender. Beautiful. Confident. Not to mention 20 years younger.
