I don’t even know if they were squats, but everything becomes a squat of death when you have four gallons of sweat in your eyes and every muscle in your lower body is trembling.
“Ramp up your workout.” Says everyone.
“Walking is for sissies and old lady’s.”
“Pick up those feet and R.U.N.”
“Give Jillian the chance to kill you.”
I’ve heard it all. I know pulling on my big girl shorts and lacing up my sneakers is good for me.
I can do more.
Of course I can.
I am woman.
Hear me roar!
It’s just that my mind isn’t really communicating with my muscles. The call was dropped and we can’t seem to reconnect. I am lazy to my core, and I absolutely mean the core that centers around my belly button – the one that I should be crunching, engaging, and toning. I just hate the feeling of being one leg-lift away from death. Is that so wrong?
After about ten minutes of Jillian’s Killer Buns and Thighs, I found myself with my face in the carpet and puddle of sweat pooling around my body. I pivoted, jumped into squats, lunged (while thinking about strangling the person who invented these exercises), suspended myself in the air with one toe while the rest of my body twisted side-to-side, and contorted my hamstring muscles in ways that should have been listed as Thou Shalt Not’s of the ten commandments.
Then I gave up.
I did, however, lift one eye towards the TV so I could see the coming torture that is called Level 1. I shutter to think what is involved with Level 3. I suspect it’s like the third level of hell. In fact, there may have been a moment when I thought Jillian was the devil herself.
Jillian, if you’re out there reading (which I know you’re not, because you’re in a gym half-killing chubby people), I apologize for seeing horns growing out of your head. It was the sweat in my eyes blurring my vision. I am sure you are the patron saint of tight thighs.
Tonight as I’m walking around the track, I’ll be running my head. I promise I will. Every good and bad thing we do begins on the inside, so on this day, I am running the blasted New York City Marathon inside my mind. Heck, I may even dream of doing the Zumba.
And if we happen to meet up in my mind, go ahead and compliment my thighs.
Because after today’s workout, I earned it.
I hope everyone in the U.S. had a nice 4th of July yesterday.
We woke up early and went to the park to hear the Declaration of Independence read.
It was us and handful of really old folks. It worries me a little. Not only for the future of our country, but also for the future of my family.
Our social life is looking a bit like the geriatric activities in the local nursing home.
When FringeMan and I start playing shuffleboard, intervene.
Kidding. I like shuffleboard. I really do.
It’s kind of like walking, and doesn’t require any Olympic acts from my hamstrings.
Ok, so maybe I went to this event without brushing my hair, but I did brush my teeth and I jumped in and out of the shower.
Even if I was still wearing yesterday’s mascara.
I did it for my country.
And speaking of countries…
Happy Canada Day to all my Canadian friends.
I know it was last week, but I was too busy being killed by squats to write sooner.
What about you? What did you do yesterday?
Are you an overachieving workout champ?
Or are you like me? A. Total. Slacker. Almost.