Today I went to the gym.

This morning, after dropping Jack at preschool, I drove to the gym. It wasn’t because I wanted to workout. In fact, I’d have just as soon written algebraic equations based on the condiments in my refrigerator or attempted potty training a manatee as going to the gym. But it’s what I do. Go to the gym. Everyday. There’s nowhere else I have to be. I’m lucky that way. But it feels hollow. No job to stress about. No PTA activities today. Not even a parole officer awaiting my urine specimen.

I think the distance between First Methodist Preschool and Fairview Fitness Center is probably about a mile and a half, though my last name is neither Garmin nor TomTom (and I’m glad. Weight, spelled this way is bad enough.) During the drive there I felt as if Depression were tailgating me in an unmarked car threatening to commandeer my vehicle and cut off my oxygen with its life sucking grip.

Click here to download my book, Just Kidding (not really) to read the rest of this and 60 other funny essays about life, marriage, kids and being neurotic. 

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