After a summer filled with lazy days and overeating nights, we started back to the gym last week.
We figured since we drive right past it after dropping the kids off at school, we should at least drop in and see if it was still there.
It was.
And so were all the medieval torture devices that they try to pass off as "exercise" equipment.
Jeff has an official piece of paper that says he qualified to instruct me on their usage. A fact he takes full advantage of. He makes Jillian Michaels look like Mother Theresa.
But I am a compliant and easy going student. Rarely complaining and following his instructions without question.
A young grasshopper to his master Po.
Why are you all shaking your head and rolling your eyes?
OK, the truth is I fear one day he is going to hand me a weight and I am going to drop it on his foot and run while he can't chase me. Unfortunately he carries the car keys so I probably wouldn't get very far. And I think he may have paid one of the desk staff to tackle me if they see me bolting for the door.
Now don't get me wrong... I like working out... I really do. (No, really). It's just so much work. And the weights are so heavy. Yes yes, I know thats the point but humor me here.
I am sore and grouchy after having spent part of the morning trying to shove a 65 pound bar off my chest. Pesky thing kept coming back.
We need to keep in mind that I possess an athletic ability of about 4.5 on a scale of 1-100 so I am lucky that some some of the things I am made to do are kept to the confines of the gym. I wouldn't want to scare small children or embarrass myself more than usual.
Hanging from the pull up machine, shoulders straining to their breaking point, I turn a pleasing shade of purple and manage to hoist myself an inch and half higher.
I am now stuck half way to the top.
I try to let go but find my fingers are frozen in a death grip around the handles.
I realize if I hang there much longer I risk bringing attention to myself when they have to call 911 to help get me down or I need to suck it up and haul my ass the rest of the way to the top of the bar and get it over with.
I strain and pull and run through my repertoire of bad words and finally mange to finish my required number of sets and am allowed to step off and allow someone else the pleasure.
No one said being in shape was easy, but it would sure be nice if I could reward myself for my effort with a nice bowl of ice cream. Maybe with some apple pie crumbled on top under some whipped cream with caramel sauce and topped off with peanut butter cups for good measure.
I think that may cancel out the whole gym thing, but I can't be 100% sure.
We figured since we drive right past it after dropping the kids off at school, we should at least drop in and see if it was still there.
It was.
And so were all the medieval torture devices that they try to pass off as "exercise" equipment.
Jeff has an official piece of paper that says he qualified to instruct me on their usage. A fact he takes full advantage of. He makes Jillian Michaels look like Mother Theresa.
But I am a compliant and easy going student. Rarely complaining and following his instructions without question.
A young grasshopper to his master Po.
Why are you all shaking your head and rolling your eyes?
OK, the truth is I fear one day he is going to hand me a weight and I am going to drop it on his foot and run while he can't chase me. Unfortunately he carries the car keys so I probably wouldn't get very far. And I think he may have paid one of the desk staff to tackle me if they see me bolting for the door.
Now don't get me wrong... I like working out... I really do. (No, really). It's just so much work. And the weights are so heavy. Yes yes, I know thats the point but humor me here.
I am sore and grouchy after having spent part of the morning trying to shove a 65 pound bar off my chest. Pesky thing kept coming back.
We need to keep in mind that I possess an athletic ability of about 4.5 on a scale of 1-100 so I am lucky that some some of the things I am made to do are kept to the confines of the gym. I wouldn't want to scare small children or embarrass myself more than usual.
Hanging from the pull up machine, shoulders straining to their breaking point, I turn a pleasing shade of purple and manage to hoist myself an inch and half higher.
I am now stuck half way to the top.
I try to let go but find my fingers are frozen in a death grip around the handles.
I realize if I hang there much longer I risk bringing attention to myself when they have to call 911 to help get me down or I need to suck it up and haul my ass the rest of the way to the top of the bar and get it over with.
I strain and pull and run through my repertoire of bad words and finally mange to finish my required number of sets and am allowed to step off and allow someone else the pleasure.
No one said being in shape was easy, but it would sure be nice if I could reward myself for my effort with a nice bowl of ice cream. Maybe with some apple pie crumbled on top under some whipped cream with caramel sauce and topped off with peanut butter cups for good measure.
I think that may cancel out the whole gym thing, but I can't be 100% sure.
