Thirty

Abstract

45 the top: YMCA. Below, in smaller print it read: “Thank you, KATE OWENS, for your ONE-YEAR MEMBERSHIP to NORTHTOWN YMCA. This membership entitles you to ONE FULL YEAR of access to ALL YMCA SERVICES at NORTHTOWN YMCA as well as discounted rates to SOUTHTOWN YMCA AND PRAIRIE VIEW YMCA Membership effective JUNE 8-2002 to JUNE 9. 2003.” “Kate, I originally thought we could go together, but Jim and I are members of the Southtown Racquet Club and I thought the Northtown YMCA would be closer to your apartment.” Lisa looked concerned. I knew she wanted me to ooh and ahh and say how perfect it was. “This will be fine, thanks.” “I was gonna try that YWCA on Monroe, but I thought you could maybe meet a nice guy here.” She smiled as though she had just told me I had won a cruise to the Bahamas. My parents chuckled. “What a wonderful idea, Lisa!” Mom stood up. “Can I take your dishes?” So that was it. That was my birthday. I got a “fat gwilling thing” and a membership to the YMCA. I honestly felt like moving to Alaska after that night. At least there you get to wear a lot of sweaters so everyone looks a little chunky. Here in Iowa I had that luxury only in the wintertime. That’s what brought me to the point I am at now. A week later, 5:30 in the morning and I am about to reap the benefits of my sister’s birthday ingenuity. It is June 9th and Lisa called me yesterday asking how I enjoyed my first day at the Y. Guilty, I told her I didn’t make it. All she could do was tell me how wonderful her morning runs are with all of her friends and how being fit makes her feel so much younger. I figure if I go once then I can make up some story of how an old guy at the weight machines grabbed my butt and I will swear never to go back again. Maybe I’ll donate the membership to someone at work. Rummaging through my drawers, I find the least offending thing to wear: sweatpants. While pulling them up over my pooch, I wonder if Lisa realizes that I haven’t set foot in a workout center for ten years, unless you count the time I started my new-century resolution and took up stationary biking. My shoestring had gotten caught in the gears somehow and, in an attempt to get it loose, I had fallen off the bike and landed on my knees, butt in the air, legs twisted to the point of hopelessness. The only thing I saw before I started crying were the tan, hairy legs and white Nike shoes of the trainer, chuckling above me in his singlet and running shorts. That was probably the longest I’d ever kept a workout resolution. I never tried again. But here I am now with a stupid year-long membership that my perfect little sister probably spent more on than anything she has ever bought me, and, out of sheer anger and obligation, I am giving in. In all of my 30-yearMorse