The Gym. Damn Her.

When you turn (insert my age here), everything falls apart overnight. Days are sprinkled with little discoveries like, "How long has THAT been there," or "Didn't that used to be up HERE?"

Whether it's walking past the Aerosoles shoe store and thinking to yourself, "Those aren't THAT bad," or realizing you've inadvertently taken advantage of a restaurant's Early Bird Special, age sneaks up on you very quietly, and long before you expect it to.

Around this time, when gravity begins to take its toll, and it seems prudent to invest in some REALLY good bras, one begins to panic, and one may spend her mornings scouring the gym's website for group exercise classes to go to- every day for the rest of her life.

Dean and I are members of New York Sports Club, and they lured us in by saying, "We have branches all over the city!" Really, they do. They are like the Starbucks of gyms. At first I thought, "Big whoop- I work from home. I don't care if there's a branch in Midtown." Well, much like those Aerosoles, I'm beginning to see the light.

There are 5 branches of NYSC within 7 blocks of our apartment. And when you reach the point when you are seriously considering the Groupon for Botox from the dentist's office, you realize that each branch has different classes at different times.

I have become a class chaser. While the NYSC on 73rd has Silver Sneakers Stretch Class at 10:30am (don't laugh- I watched it and considered it), I could go to Pilates Mat a mere 3 blocks away at the same time! No Abs class at 1:00 at 76th Street? No sweat! Head on over to Abs at 80th! They make it so easy. They make it TOO easy. I now have no excuse.

So, I need to find some clean gym clothes and head over to the 10:30 Pilates mat class, for which I have a reservation. Oh, yeah. It's fancy. And on the way, I will pass by the Aerosoles store.

And I will look straight ahead and keep on walking. I'm not quite ready for that just yet.