Mom On The Rocks

Back in the glory days, I had a very nice pattern of getting to fall 3-a-day workouts for volleyball without lifting a finger all summer. Supposedly there was a theory proven by doctors and trainers and coaches, yada yada yada, that if you worked out during your offseason, and prepared...blah blah blah, that this would hinder chances of injuries and all that stuff.

Clearly, it never sunk in. And so, every year, I'd show up and get so sore. At one point we got a new coach. We met her for the first time on the track where she proceeded to make us run 200's. She claimed they were sprints. But to me, that's distance. And you want me to sprint the WHOLE THING? Pishaw! I am like Forrest Gump, I can go the distance. But long sprint, it's maddening psyche to me. All the other teammates (suck ups who did their summer workouts) made their times and were waiting for me and my pal, J-Dog to finish up. Mind you, this is our coaches first time to meet us. And so, you can imagine Coach's fear and dismay when J-Dog was in so much pain from the new form of exercise, the "sprints", that she just starts wailing in pain. It's just me, the coach and J-Dog on the far side of the track. And she's begging the coach to make the ButtCramp stop, and actually asked my the Coach, can she rub it.

Yeah, Coach called off the sprints that day on account that J-Dog clearly couldn't run anymore, and I was laughing so hard, I'm pretty sure that I got put into a time-out that day. While I was in the time out, I'm certain that Coach searched long and hard for a new job, but was stuck with us. It was too late to retreat.

Coach and I are fairly good pals these days. I'm certain our relationship is founded on the basis of a very traumatic moment of butt cramp. It's a moment we share.

Fast forward to this week, and I'm unhappily reminded of that pain inflicted on me. Except this time, I'm no smarter, I have PAID CASH for someone to do this to me. Our trainer, decided to make us do A SOLID LAP OF LUNGES. And why I did it has me completely puzzled. I vowed when I left collegiate sports to never do a push-up nor lunges for the rest of my days.

Dr. Phil's key phrase rings in my ears about this: "So, Les, how's that workin for ya?" (Does Dr. Phil voice come up in any of y'alls heads too, or is it just me?) Well, Dr. Phil, considering I'm still working off baby weight, the last 20 pounds and my kids are 4, I guess my vow to put off the injustice of pushups and lunges clearly is NOT working for me. So, I succumbed to the pressures and demands of my rock-hard tasty-ab'd trainer and did it. By the end of the lunges, I was back to the glory days, knowing exactly what J-Dog was talking about. I had buttcramp. But did reserve just a little bit of dignity for me and the trainer and refrained from asking her if she could indeed, rub the butt cramp. That would have been awkward.

Still, I knew that I was in trouble. If you've ever worked out after a long "hiatus", then you know, the soreness only gets worse. The workout, was painful. But the next day, I was sore. And here we are on Day 2, I should call it something like ass-whipped Thursday, and I can barely move without the assistance of a minor overdose of ibuprofen.

My only solace in all of this is that fat does not get sore. Somewhere in the depths of my butt and thighs, there is muscle. It is muscle that apparently is very angry. But it's there.

I will continue to pay this trainer only because today she saw me sipping coffee at the gym, not working out, and took the time to sincerely and almost apologetically ask if I was going to be okay. I have a permanent wincing expression on my face, I guess.

I explained that I'm fine as long as I can use the handicapped bathrooms so I can use the rail to sit down. Seriously. I need assistance. It's that bad.

And somehow, I must find the courage and strength to do the same thing to my body tomorrow. This better work, Lori.

That's how I roll.