Apparently, as human people, we are supposed to want to eat right and get in shape and lose weight and look fabulous. Apparently, these things are very desirable. But apparently, I am missing this gene. Because I’ll be honest. I don’t particularly WANT to eat healthy, or get in shape. I mean I want to be in shape. It’s the getting there part I’m not so keen on. I want to eat crap, and I consider “working out” to be the sort of thing that responsible people do. You know those people who have magazine sorters and slot things for their bills and who keep all of their documents organized in a file cabinet? They work out. People like myself, whose file cabinet is in my purse and on top of the crockpot and on the kitchen table and tucked into the utensil rack, also in my tote bag and sometimes on the passenger seat of my car? People like me do not work out.
Have I told you I’ve been working out?
A few weeks ago, Jude invited a few friends & I to join her at the gym to take a cardio kickboxing class. This is when I apparently blacked out, because before I knew what had happened, I had replied saying I would love to go! EVERY NIGHT OF THE WEEK IF I COULD!!!
I could make any good excuses about how I accidentally broke my leg last night while sleeping or how I can’t find my left arm. But I’m a terrible liar. I don’t even try. So I was stuck. Instead I opted to email her again, explaining that I may need some gentle coaxing to get me there. A reminder phone call here. A gently persuading email saying, “You suck, get off your butt & let’s go!” email there. That would maybe help. I was also very clear about another thing; I HATE TO SWEAT! She assured me that this would be a problem. Now, it isn’t just that I’ve never worked out. It’s just that I tend to lean towards lower impact exercises that don’t cause me to sweat. I HATE TO SWEAT. And know what gyms are like? Smelly. People sweat in there. Ew!
But I steeled myself and met the ladies there. And as we stood together in this scary, terrible place, I resigned myself to working on my fitness. I joined the gym, purchased my boxing gloves [that’s right people, I own boxing gloves!] and tackled class #1. This is also when a small voice in my head whispered, “You are going to die.” 45 minutes later class was over. I had actually dripped sweat. From my body. Into my eye! But I had done it! Right then, I didn’t feel like I was going to die. I felt pretty good & satisfyingly accomplished. I was going to be all right!
So of course, you know where this is going. About two hours after we’d finished working out, I began to feel something strange in my legs. Ow. About three hours after working out, I stopped being able to fully extend my legs. OW. And by day 3, I was walking around like I was ninety-four and bowlegged and had rickets, shrieking about how my LEGS were BROKEN, and this is ALL JUDE’S FAULT, and she had best bring me some WINE!
Well, y’all, it has been almost a month since I went to the gym for the first time and I continue to go back 3 times a week. Without even being coerced! I know! I’m feeling good and I have actual muscle definition. The next thing I know, my legs are going to be all toned and tanned, right? I’m thinking, what? One. Maybe two more classes? Hey, maybe I can become one of those crazy workout people! I can talk about endorphins and my gym and resistance training and cardio. And all those words I don’t think should be used in polite conversation. I’ll become an exercise machine! My steel-like thighs will be the envy of all! My butt will be so gorgeous and shapely that it will be suitable for framing! This is what I am thinking. Right?
Well, maybe no. Because the other day, there was a disheartening incident. See, there is a boy that goes to the gym that my daughter knows. I’m guessing he’s like, 15. Normally he’s not in my class, but the other day he decided he was going to stay after his regular class & work out. Right next to me. So we’re in the midst of doing our floor work [crunches, weights, stretches, etc.] and he’s all,
Boy: “No, no … not like that. Like this.”
Me: “Oh, ok.” [Continue doing it how I was.]
Boy: “I bet you wish you could do this.” doing a flailing-type thing :::grunt grunt grunt:::
Me: “Oh, yeah.” [No.]
Boy: “You’re supposed to be doing this … the way you’re doing it is wrong”
Me: “Oh.” [Continue doing it how I was.]
Boy: “Oooooh, yeah, look at this. I bet you can’t do this.”
Me: “Hmmmm.” [What? Be a complete jackass?]
Boy: “Something, something, look at my muscles, blah-blah I do lots of exercising dee-blah, something about SUCK IT!”
Me: <blink> [Did he just tell me to suck it?]
Boy: “Man! That was even hard for me. I bet it was REALLY hard for you!”
Me: <blink blink>
Me: “You’re single, aren’t you?”
So anyway, now I have new motivation. Getting in shape enough to kick his ass. Wish me luck.
Have a great weekend!