If anyone saw me, and the mink, enter SATS on Boxing Day, – don`t panic! 1. I’m not deeply depressed 2. I’m not manic (at least not more than usual). And 3. I`m not on some sort of journey called «Bikini Body 2022 !!». As she stupid P.T Instructor yelled at me, and my eating disordered girlfriend, one March Day some (but not enough) years ago.
This was definitely a year where one, and especially she, as an employee in a gym chain, should know better – but definitely didn`t. But anyway! So, no. It was neither the summer body, nor the bikini body (can you imagine! As if “summer body” wasn`t bad enough! She even went for “bikini body”. Or. BIKINI BODY!!! With capital letters and exclamation marks. She might as well have shouted “Who wants to be a sex machine?!!!”. And everyone would yell. I do! I do! I do!). Well. Where was I? Oh, yes. That it was neither the summer body nor the bikini body that was the big motivation for me. No. It was Dad. I did it for Dad.
Now it’s not like Dad thinks I should work for the summer body 2022. Nor the Bikini body 2022. That he has become some sort of a manager and counts calories for me and stuff. No, no. More, he`s kind of a supervisor. A financial guardian, if you will. Or maybe more the kind of guardian that checks if subscriptions, in fact, are being used. That subscriptions he pays for, in fact, are being used.
And it sure was in use. I would even say that it (the training, yes) became some sort of a daily routine, really (for a little period there). After an awful back prolapse, I actually frequented SATS several times a week. I even started upgrading my wardrobe. Got myself some workout tops. Considered buying new shoes. But then came Corona. And it all came to an abrupt end.
Then there`s been some “conversations” along the way, of course. “So, Julie… have you been going to the gym, then, lately?”. “You know they’re open now, Julie?” “They’re open now, you know”. “So now, all you have to do, is get yourself out there, you know”. “It`s important for your health, you know ». “You know, you know.” And you know what? In the end, you know, I started, you know, to lie. Well, maybe not lie, exactly. More “I went there this weekend, actually…!”, – and then hurry up, and try and go there, so it would be true. But then, what can I say, things got in the way. Children. Clutter. Dirty sinks. Shutdowns. Semi-infection-fear. Sole proprietorships. In plural. Instagram. But then, suddenly, Boxing Day of 2021, came along.
“You haven`t been to the gym, in a long time…”. The split second where I try to figure out if there`s any chance, at all, that this can still be a question, rather than an oh-so-irrevocable statement. Like so many times before. But where the certainty of the 2021 technology washes over me, quite fiercely, -and I realize that the technology in all probability is on his side, -and that he, in all probability, already for a year now, have had access to the material -the absolute truth- about my attendance at this fitness center, SATS. Transferred to him in form of another app (which I have heard nothing about). “No, it … it’s been a while, yes…”. “Maybe a year…”. “Yes… yes… maybe a year”.
“Maybe we should just download the app right away?” And then, I noticed. That it was a question, indeed. But I have never ever, in my life, answered a question quicker. “Yes. Yes! I really think we should! ». And then I mumbled something about probably having that app, already. That I actually used it, quite frequently, -once. For a little while there. But that last section, with that little while (which by the way wasn`t that little) I didn`t mumble at all. That was all done inside of me. I figured it was the only right thing to do. In moments like these (moments where thirty-eight-year-old girls are trying their best to be daddy’s girls. And go to the gym. The one that daddy has paid for).
So that was it, then. It really was the only appropriate place. For Minken Fossheim and I. On Boxing Day, 2021. 12 to 14.45, if I’m not completely mistaken (but Dad probably knows this, though). And yes. That`s correct. I like to take my time, when I first go. Not only to get the exercise done smoothly (why rush?), but to shower. To shampoo. To condition. That really goes without saying, these days. Considering the fees on hot water. Electricity. And personal hygiene. So. Whenever one could shower, one should shower.
And yes, by the way, Minken Fossheim is the nickname of my fur coat. Obviously, I would never bring dead actors to the gym, without further ado (and without permissions and everything). I always only bring dead animals. And even with them, it`s not like I drag them along the treadmill with me. I just put them in my closet. Well. Minken, that is. I put in my closet. And to tell you the truth, it`s spelled a bit differently also, – but really, we don`t mind. It`s all about the tribute (for example, I loved her in “God Bok”). And also, I think it`s only appropriate to say, fur-speaking, that these hardships took place, but have now stopped (thank goodness) and that I strongly disapprove of them. If someone were to make coats out of minks again. However, with that said, the mink coats exist. To this very day. Behind closed doors. And hidden in wardrobes. But they`re there. Here. And I intend to use them! On cold days, at least. Before they rot and vanishes (and believe you me. Time is running out for all of us (two-legged as well as four-legged)). So, then. That was why, not only the mink, but also me, myself and I was at the gym, Boxing Day. And how it all actually went, I`ll tell you about next time.