The Real Pretend: Parking Lot Workout

It’s 5:33pm on a Wednesday night and I’m sitting in my car typing this in the Kroc Center’s dark parking lot. I was feeling really good about myself, because I had actually gotten my butt to the gym and planned to attend not one, but TWO fitness classes. I know, I know, call me a Spartan.

After last week when I emerged from my room after a two hour nap, I said to my roommate, “I am a terrible person. I was going to just come home for 20 minutes and then go to the gym. I slept instead.” Justine then replied with the wisdom of Solomon. “Maybe you shouldn’t come home first. Just go straight to the gym.”

Well snap. I know that. I just don’t want to do it. I like being at my house. When I am a mere 7 minute drive from it, I want to come home for twenty minutes. But this week I heeded Justine’s advice. Even though I get done teaching at noon, I stayed at school doing other things until five o’clock. Then I changed and went to the gym, which is where I am right now. Well, I’m in the parking lot, anyway.

I arrived ten minutes early to get a spot in the weights class. But after scanning my membership card and filling up my water bottle, I discovered that the class was as packed as Walmart on Black Friday. Not a single open space. For a quick second I contemplated doing my own weight training in the equipment area, but I did not bring my iPod and exercising without music is almost like death. Also, let’s be honest. The reason I go to group fitness classes is because I lack the personal willpower to train on my own.

I still want to attend the group Zumba class at 6:30, so that is why I am killing time writing this in my car. While getting my laptop out of the trunk, I noticed the kangaroo costume still piled in my trunk since Halloween. I contemplated putting it on because it is 42 degrees outside, but instead I left the marsupial suit where it was and just blasted the heat in my car for a while to warm it up. So most of me is warm, but I still have icicle fingers because I have like the skinniest fingers in North America and it’s hard for them to stay warm. In case you want to buy me a ring, my size is 3 and ¾. Seriously, there are eight year old girls with fingers bigger than mine.

This is my best friend wearing my kangaroo suit on a hot day.

Ugh. It’s only 5:54. We still have some time. Today I was in a concerned conversation whereupon someone said, “I think she may be living in her car. I saw a lot of clothes and things in there.” The second thing that popped into my mind was I wonder if people think that about me. Because I’ve got loads of stuff in my car. It’s like a portable office without wifi.

Let me tell you what I have with me, just right now:

Two jackets, a sweater, a package of plastic cups in a re-usable grocery bag, a tub of stuff for Bible Club (story book, pictures, attendance clipboard, etc. etc. etc.), garbage from last night’s dinner, three crusty oatmeal bowls and spoons, an apple, chalk, a notebook, a kangaroo suit, 10 wrapped shoebox presents to mail for Operation Christmas Child, a bin of work stuff for children’s ministries, a bag of 100 eraser toppers, a deflated basketball that somewhat reflects my hopes and dreams, a book bag, mail, a fan from my geisha/Mulan costume, and I don’t know what else because it’s really dark in here. Up until 3:30 today I also had a portable baby crib in my trunk, but I finally took that out and put it in the church nursery where it belongs.

I usually take very good care of my possessions, but the interior and exterior of my car is not something I really strive to keep in perfect condition. The main reason for this is so no one tries to rob me/steal my car. It’s got two missing hubcaps from some misadventures I’ve had in the past, and I’ve also got multiple scratches on the paint job because of the time I taught in the ‘hood and parked my car outside till 8pm at night while slaving away in the classroom. There’s also the chipping paint that pretty much takes over the entire front bumper. The paint isn’t wrecked because I got in an accident, but I figured I might as well not fix it, because now people take one look at me and stay the hell away since they think I must drive like a maniac.

Okay, I’ve turned on the heat three times now. Just for like four minutes each time, but it doesn’t stay heated for very long because it’s so freaking cold outside. If I did live in my car, I would need a subzero sleeping bag and like, 20 pounds of Hotties to shake up and keep me warm throughout the night. I’m almost there, though. Just ten more minutes of waiting.