Friday, March 06, 2009
I went to the gym this morning. I fed Ella at just after seven and noticed Zar was still in bed, my ever so slightly used gym clothes were on the floor, and the gym is six minutes away. So I got dressed, pulled my hair back (I am so over putting on makeup or even washing my face before going to the gym) and zipped out the door while Zar protested that he had to leave for work pretty much immediately, even though he was still looking like a stubbly half asleep lump.
I did 25 minutes on the elliptical watching the news (belly dancing fest this weekend, another snow storm, big explosion in Bozeman) next to my former personal trainer, a beautiful tiny slip of a thing who used to caliper my arm fat for me. I am wearing ever so slightly used floppy gym pants and an XXL T-shirt proclaiming my love for Fish Lake. And bleach stains. Nice. I kind of want her to say hi, that she hasn't seen me around for some time, and whats with the ultra short not really worth it workout, so I can explain that I just had an 8 pound baby four (okay, five) months ago and lost my other daughter less than two weeks ago. So LAY OFF.
But she doesn't say hi, or even turn her pretty profile, but I am pleased when she goes back to her desk before my 25 minutes are up and I have to skedaddle out the door without so much as stretching, let alone lifting anything other than my ipod and car keys.
I get home at 8:06, and Zar is standing at the top of stairs in the garage door, pretending he always leaves the house this early and I have delayed him.
And it is so odd, I think, as I hang around his neck in the garage and he says our morning prayer (please keep us safe on the roads, free from harm, accident, or speeding tickets, and please help us to not be so sad and remember the good times) that a grieving mother such as myself would have the audacity to go to the gym.
"I didn't expect you back to work so soon" say half my co-workers last monday, 9 days after Charlotte went home.
I talk with Katie at Chilis about the funeral, what a tiny casket can cost, about the cheesy daisy engraving that was on the lid but covered by the tulips we picked out, and I can tell the people at the next table are listening, maybe a little shocked, and would be more shocked to know this funeral took place 10 days ago.
But life goes on. Work must be done, money earned, chips and salsa consumed, and 25 minutes of alone time at the gym is therapeutic if not all that effective. I miss Charlotte. Life is more quiet, less busy, and I am surrounded by wilting flowers and cards, but it does, indeed, go on.