Like sand through the hourglass...

I work for small company (which will remain nameless because thou shalt not blog about work), and in a small company, I think somewhat less-than-stellar benefits are likely the norm. If I want dental insurance, I pay for it myself. I have a 401k, but no one matches my contributions to it. We are provided a fridge full of soda at no cost to us, but as I rarely drink Coke without a shot of Captain mixed in, that's not all that meaningful a bonus for me.

One perk that I do quite appreciate, however, is the free health club membership. I have an all-access pass to the gym of my employer's choice, on one condition only: I have to go eight times a month.

I actually think this is a very fair rule, so it doesn't bother me one bit. Besides that, money is an excellent motivator. Some people need a workout buddy to get them to the gym. Me, I just remember that I'll have $50 docked from my paycheck if I don't drag my ass to the club, and that's all the catalyst I need.

To make sure I get my eight times in each month, I created a little note in Outlook to track my attendance. (Clearly I'm not only scattered, forgetful, and paranoid; I'm also a huge nerd as well.) Each month, I type the current month's name in the note, and then before or after each workout, I open the note and add the date to the list.

Usually, the list of dates for the month is about nine numbers long. (As with so many things in life, I do the bare minimum and maybe just a little bit more.) In a particularly ambitious month, I might have ten or eleven numbers in the list, but rarely (very rarely) have I gotten above twelve. Until March. I don't know what happened to me in March, but check out my list for the month.



Seventeen days. Seventeen. Did you count them? For those of you who are somewhat math-challenged (or who've forgotten that helpful little rhyme that reminds you how many days are in each month), let me clue you in to something. Seventeen means that in a 31-day month, I went to the gym more days than I didn't. I went enough times to warrant two employees' memberships. A lazier co-worker could have hired me as a workout surrogate. And considering I live 20+ miles from the city where both my office and my gym are located, and I therefore never ever go on weekends, I think seventeen times is particularly impressive.

On the one hand, my back fat has almost entirely vanished. No more muffin top on me. My weight, last time I stepped on the scale, was actually two pounds lower than what's indicated on my driver's license. My stomach is still annoyingly squashy, but I think maybe I need to make peace with that as a side effect of the fact that the first digit in my age is a 3, so I'm not going to focus on that right now.

On the other hand, many of these workouts occurred over the lunch hour. The elliptical trainers and treadmills I often use when I'm there at that time of day are situated directly below the TV that's tuned to NBC. Perhaps you know where I'm going with this. I started watching Days of Our Lives again.

I remember three periods in my life when I watched Days with some sort of regularity. The summer after eighth grade, I got hooked because my sister started watching. I remember how annoyed we were when we couldn't watch for weeks because the Oliver North Iran-Contra trials preempted that daytime programming slot. Eventually the start of a new school year forced me off the addiction for a while, and the following summer, I had a daily babysitting job, so I didn't get sucked back in. But a few years later, bored in my parents' house all summer yet again, I returned to the Salem lot almost daily. And then a few years after that, in college, Days was almost impossible to avoid, as the TV in nearly all my friends' dorm rooms (and the one in the TV lounge in the student union, where people crammed in over the lunch hour) was always tuned to NBC from noon to 1:00.

I haven't watched the drivel that is Days of Our Lives since I became gainfully employed in a grown-up 8-5 job over eight years ago. I certainly never expected to get sucked in again. But on the health club TVs, my choices are limited. It's ESPN, Fox News (ugh.), CNN, or NBC. Given these options (or the even less appealing choice to simply stare into space or at my fellow exercisers), I somehow found myself drawn back to Days.

I want to say that I'm not really watching; that it's just on in front of me, and I'm bored, so I glance at it from time to time. I don't even listen to the dialogue, actually; my not-iPod plays my workout music while I read the subtitles on screen. I realized recently I was kidding myself, however, the day the closed captioning was turned off and I had to make a choice: music or Days audio. People, I am not proud; I tuned my radio to Days.

Hello. My name is Stefanie, and I watch very bad TV on purpose.

At first, it was simply fun to realize how little had changed in the eight years since I'd last watched. I was amazed how many of the story lines I was able to follow immediately, because the characters were the same and the rivalries were, too. Sure, the Belle who was merely a toddler the last time I saw her is now a 20-something with an infant of her own, and the woman I knew as Adrienne has somehow morphed into an entirely different character named Bonnie, but it's remarkable how much else is unchanged. Marlena is still being brainwashed by an evil madman; it's just a madman named Alex instead of Stefano. Kate is still taking an unhealthy and manipulative interest in the lives of her sons and their girlfriends, instead of getting a useful or productive hobby of her own. Jennifer is still an annoying twit who can't think for herself or buy a clue. People are still being drugged and fathering children they don't know they have, and the reasons someone is doing the drugging are still somewhat unclear. And Sami is still alternating between being obsessed with Austin and being obsessed with Lucus, while both of them are still in love with her prettier, sweeter, but personality-deficient sister Carrie.

I actually have to thank the writers of Days for that last one, I think, because I believe it's that particular story line that's going to rid me of this habit once and for all. It's bad enough that they're drawing out the same love quadrangle for 15+ years, having us believe that there are no other men and women in the greater Salem area who might catch the eye of one of these four so they can move on and finally forget about their unrequited obsession for good. No, instead, they keep shuffling these four around, letting something almost happen, letting a decision almost be made, before something jerks them back again. It's infuriating, and I really don't need to watch it. I have enough indecision and inertia in my own life; I don't need to see it on the small screen as well.

My options, then, as I see it, are as follows. Let's pick the most appealing:

1. Take an interest in sports, so I can stand to work out below ESPN.
2. Become a Republican (or an imbecile), so I can tolerate Fox News.
3. Take up stationary biking, so I can watch CNN. (Alternately, I suppose I could stick to the ellipticals but somehow just improve my eyesight so I can see the CNN TV from that position, but that's even less likely to occur.)
   

Hmmm. Tricky.