In working through my 12 for 2012, I had an idea to create a fitness room in my house. This will help numbers 4, 7, and 8 on my list.
This came to me after months of wanting to join a gym but not wanting to spend the money, especially after David got laid off. My workplace has a fitness area, but there's something about working out in front of my co-workers that makes me want to stab myself in the face.
I mean, it kind of seems unprofessional, right? I participate in meetings with these people, and I can't do that if I've seen them work out. Then there's me: I don't want them to see me like that. Red face, running make-up, grunting and hacking. It's just something you can't un-see. I don't exactly look like Heidi Klum when I'm working out.
Anyway, so I did some research on gyms in my area, and I came to the conclusion that gyms suck. Paying thirty dollars a month to run on a treadmill when I already have a treadmill is stupid. I just didn't have anywhere to put my treadmill.
So I thought and thought. I'd rather work out at home, but I don't want an eyesore treadmill to be in the way...Where could I possibly put my workout equipment?
Oh yeah, I thought, I suppose that room upstairs that no one uses and has a bunch of boxes in it.
I'm dense for not realizing it sooner, but boxes can be stored in attics. That's apparently what attics are for. I'd been stuffing everything into this 12x7 room upstairs -- an old sofa, a bunch of David's mementos from the Army, Christmas decorations... who knew those things were supposed to go in the attic? No one told me this.
The room will eventually have my treadmill, fitness ball and yoga mat. We'll also install David's old flat-screen high-def TV onto the wall, get a second DVR, and move my DVD player in so I can have something to distract me from the insane sensation of moving uncomfortably fast.
I would've taken a "before" picture of the room, but there wasn't much to see. I'll take an "after" photo, though.
So today, David and I have begun the process of clearing the room out. One little problem: We don't have a ladder. (I used to. My ex-fiancé took it when he moved out. Apparently there's a bigger need for ladders when you live in an apartment in New York City... as opposed to a 2 1/2 story house located in an area notorious for its roof-damaging storms.)
With us not having a ladder, David attempted to hoist me up into the attic so that I could grab boxes he hands to me from below. One more little problem: Ever since I went skydiving, it seems I've developed a redonkulous fear of heights. I stepped up on a nightstand and prepared to get pushed up into the attic when I suddenly couldn't move. My hands gripped the door frame in front of me while also shaking uncontrollably.
"When did you suddenly become afraid of heights?" David mocked, and I replied with, "nnnnhnhnh."
So he stood on the nightstand, and I handed boxes up to him. I looked up to watch him slide a box up into the attic, and then the ground started to move. I caught myself on the wall of the hallway. I had vertigo. We called it a day soon after that.
I'm still a little shaky. My hands are still tingling. This process might take a while.