Workout couture

I belong to a nice gym in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago. Contrary to why most people select a gym, I joined this one because of its exorbitant monthly fee of $90. I guess to some that's not a lot of money. But to a teacher, that's a shitload of cash to pay for 2 hours of torture 4-5 times/week. My logic here is that if I write a check for $90 each month, I am more likely to attend just to I feel I am getting my money's worth. For once my logic was not flawed. I can tell because I get a panicky feeling every time I miss a workout. These panic attacks have less to do with the remorse I feel from missing the physical activity provided by a workout and more to do with the money I'm throwing away each time I miss an appointment with the elliptical.

One of the many drawbacks to being a member of an expensive gym is that I am the only member who doesn't dress in workout couture. My workout wardrobe consists of faded Target yoga pants that are two sizes too big on me, men's Hanes ribbed tanks (dago-Ts as we call them in these parts) and a pair of cross trainers that desperately needed to be replaced roughly 3 months ago. My mom donated a couple pairs of expensive workout pants to me, but even those look sad next to the gear of the hot Lincoln Park trixies next to me on the machines. Well last week I had a wardrobe mishap that has unwillingly thrust me into the world of workout couture. As I unpacked my gym bag to change into my glamorous workout clothes, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to pack a pair of workout pants. I had missed my workout the night before, so going home was not an option. No fancy gym would be complete without a store fully-stocked with overpriced workout gear, and I figured this was as good a time as any to take advantage of the convenience. I put my street clothes back on and went into the store to buy a pair of workout pants. To my dismay, there wasn't a single pair of reasonably priced pants. All they had were two pairs of shorts (which I believe are completely inappropriate no matter how thin you are or how hot it is) in size XS, fluorescent pink swishy pants that were 30% off of $40, and a selection of black low-rise yoga pants with contrast stitching and, oddly enough, belt loops. Clearly the only viable option here are the yoga pants with the gratuitous belt loops. The only problem is that they were $47. Yes, $47, as in $3 away from $50. I walked them up to the counter and informed the women (a complete stranger) that I would, for that moment forward, forever wear these hideously overpriced yoga pants. Since that day, I've worn them to the gym at least two times each week, once to the grocery store, and I even wore them around the house for a few hours when I felt they were being neglected. I will say, they are tons more flattering than my baggy faded Target numbers. Not flattering enough though, for the cringing to go away every time I think about how much I spent on them.

But here's the best part of this story: Upon returning to the locker room after my workout, I rifled through my bag to find my hoodie to wear out to the car. Not only did I find my hoodie, but I also found the pants that I had, in fact, remembered to pack. A classic Sue Ellen Mischke blunder.