I was at the gym today, dutifully doing my resistance training; exhaling on the heavy lifting, watching the little screen to make sure I'm in the right exertion zone, making sure by the timer that I'm not doing the exercise too fast. I realize as I re-read that, that it sounds positively anal. But honestly, why else do they put those lovely little screens on the machines? And the way I figure it, if I am going to work out at all (and I am) I might as well do it efficiently and at maximum capacity, for the best possible results.

But, a hazard of all this concentration is that I didn't see him until he was standing right in front of me waving his hands practically in front of my face.

"Hi Revmom! I didn't know that you are a member here!" There, twelve inches away from me stood a member of my congregation. And I was doing the hip abductor. Gentle readers, the closest thing to a hip abductor that I can describe to you is this: Think Thigh Master.

Yep, that's right. There I was in all my sweaty red-faced glory, repeatedly opening and closing my legs trying to push 80 pounds of metal in an effort to tone my hip and thigh area. (And they are in serious need of some toning, let me tell you.)

I'm usually pretty nonchalant about the hip abductor machine, and it's first cousin the hip adductor. But then again, I've never had to carry on a conversation with a church member while doing it. And when you stop to chat while on this machine, your legs go into a kind of automatic spread-eagle while you are stopped--that's how the machine works.

And this was not just any old church member, but a local political official--the kind who wears expensive suits with leather braces and bow-ties. The one who sits on the board of the Symphony and sends us gratis tickets to all the Symphony fundraisers. The one who, along with his lovely wife, sponsors whole tables at the local ecumenical clergy coalition fall dinner, and invites me to sit at his table. This is a very dignified, kind, erudite, generous, locally powerful man.

And now,he's practically seen my bits. (Pounds head on desk.)

I guess I was lulled into a false sense of security (obscurity?), thinking that I was on "me time" while at the gym. To be clear, this member didn't ask anything pastoral of me while we were chatting. In fact the whole exchange probably only lasted 15 seconds. If only my legs weren't spread for those 15 seconds, I think I'd be home free.

To his credit, he went off and did his workout after this encounter. To my credit, I stayed and finished mine.

Note to self: long pants at the gym are now a must.

As I was walking out to my car after showering and changing I'm thinking to myself "That'll blog."