Ophélie Lechat

A few days ago I was joking with Marc-André that I could have a series of books, like the Martine ones, except mine would be Ophélie goes to the yarn shop, Ophélie takes too many courses, Ophélie and the not-good anxiety.

Add another one: Ophélie goes to the gym.

I’ve been doing Ashtanga yoga two or three times a week since July, and I love the results, both external and internal.  Now, though, I feel like I need more cardio: I get the urge to jump on a bike and go for a long ride.  I’m a wimp who isn’t willing to bike in -12c weather, and I don’t have a proper bike, so  I decided to join a gym.

On Tuesday I grabbed my gym clothes, water bottle and lock, and made my way across town to my university gym.  Those places fill me with anxiety — everyone is so fit, everyone looks like they know what they’re doing, aren’t they going to roll their eyes at the new girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing?

Well.  I got lost on the way to the cardio room.  This place is huge, there was no map, it was full of football players.  Then  I realized I’d left my pass in my locker.  I went back.  I finally got settled on the elliptical trainer when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Where’s your towel?”

The gym attendant kicked me out. I tried my best: It’s my first time!  I don’t have any cash on me to rent a towel! I’ll try my very best not to sweat and get the machine dirty!

Nope.  I went to yoga instead.  It was comfortable and friendly, everyone smiled at each other, and while there might have been a football player in the room, he wasn’t intimidating in the least.