At What Age Do We Stop Getting Embarrassed?

So a few weeks back I joined the gym. Being an avid, although I must admit currently rather poor excuse for a yogi, the gym has not been a part of my physical repertoire for some time. I joined because they have child care. Haha.

Being a stay at home mom with no parents nearby to step in and babysit, finding time to roll out my mat and do a little workout has become near to impossible. So…I decided to join the gym. Maya gets to play with some new toys and people, and I get some time to sweat, breathe and move without interruptions.

Let me point out that I am in no way energetic during these gym sessions. My big, pregnant belly and I are perfectly comfortable strolling on the treadmill, while listening to a good podcast, followed by a short 20 minute yoga practice and ending off with the grand finale…trying to catch up on my daily readings, which I am weeks behind in. Yes, I read at the gym. I am that person.

So far I have been totally comfortable with my less than typical gym routine, but today I took it to a whole new level.

After getting Maya settled and finally arriving in the locker room, I realised I had forgotten my shoes! Noooooooooo! My Ugg boots just would not do the trick. Crap. Now what?

I figured I had 3 choices.

1. Grab Maya and head home – unless this choice was accompanied by a lie along the lines of “I was called into surgery and have to leave”, I decided this option was a no.
2. Leave Maya in the child care and head for Starbucks – I’m fairly certain that leaving your child at the gym is rather frowned upon. So, again no.
3. Figure out a way to gym without any shoes.

Now I know option 3 may seem like an obvious no, but there was a silver lining: I had brought my yoga mat. Bonus. I could casually stroll into the studio in my Uggs and do a little barefoot practice in the peace and quiet. Perfect.

It was then that I encountered the final and most devastating hurdle – there was a class in the studio. I could not use it. Aaaarrrrggghhh.

So, there I am…yoga mat in one arm, water bottle in the other and fluffy grey Uggs on my feet. I had no escape. I was committed. There was only one choice…do some yoga right there: the sweaty, grunting, weightlifting muscle men and me, barefoot and pregnant in the gym.

I started out respectfully, powering through as many push ups and planks as my out of shape ass could manage. That took me about 7 minutes. I then eased into some poses that could easily be disguised as gym workout moves, knee to nose, side planks and a few chaturangas. Another 10 minutes. And then I went for it. I decided “I am a grown up and grown ups do not care what they look like”. Bring on the warrior 2s, triangles and, wait for it, even a half moon.

I am a liar though. I was totally embarrassed. I kept looking around to see if anyone was watching me, which was followed by a mental reminder that caring about who is looking is silly.

And so I come back to the question: at what age do we stop getting embarrassed?

I do not have the answer. I just know that I am clearly not old enough yet, it appears.

I did learn one very valuable lesson today though…

Always wear your shoes to the gym. Problem solved.

xxx