Since it’s been so long since I’ve been to the gym, I begged JulzHOLLA! to tuck our saggy tails between our thunder thighs and go grovelling back to our trainer: Lori. We’ve trained with her in the past, and it worked. And then we got busy, and since it worked, we stopped training with Lori. I realize now, that doesn’t make sense, but it did back when we quit going and started gnoshing on cheeseburgers for snacks. Whatever. She’s still very good to us. And I bet she’s known it’s just been a matter of time till our co_dependent growing asses would come crawling back.
And we did. I explained I just needed my love handles, mid_ness, thighs, butt, and thighs (again) fixed. My arms are weak and I don’t have time to work on them. And also, I just don’t wanna. But Lori seems to think about silly things like “core” and “Balanced body”.
Week one: First day with Lori _ She seems nicer than normal. Kinda like when your dog runs off and then you finally get him back, you don’t beat him _ because he thinks he’s being beat for coming back, not for leaving in the first place. You have to train the dog as it happens. It’s the same thing, Lori had to wait for us to come back. And she’s not going to beat us for coming back. Not this week anyway. On the flip side of this metaphor _ we’re the dumb dogs wagging our tails in excitement. The excitement is a false sense of wavering insecurity _ metaphorically and literally speaking. We finish up the workout, noting we’ll be tender later in the week. Probably too sore to wag our tails.
Week one: Same workout, but on our own: I had Ricardo drive me to the gym, because I’m too sore from that day she greeted me so sweetly back into her training realm of hell. I simply cannot safely negotiate a steering wheel AND the gas and brake pedals.
Hey, she didn’t write this down in the right order. And are we supposed to do it this way, or this way? I couldn’t hear her explanations through my gasps for oxygen, and actually remembering all of what she said while lacking that much oxygen seems only fit for CIA spy training. And who moved that arm thingy machine? If it’s not in the exact place we left it last time, does that mean we skip it? I think “Yes”, and then I see Lori is watching us _ pointing to the machine on the other side of the room. She doesn’t look as friendly today. And I think she’s taking mental notes: “Girls are having too much fun working out on their own. Must adjust accordingly.” I’m certain of it.
I gross out the Dry Humper by suggesting that Lori has made my butt and quads so sore, I need the handicap restroom bar assistance to help me sit down and then get back up. You know, just friendly gym banter. He suggests that’s TMI. I suggest that his stretching is also TMI. So, we’re even. Walking, breathing, eating, and sleeping hurt. Lifting my arms to do frivolous things like dry my hair or brush my teeth is impossible. I remind myself that fat doesn’t get sore, so there must be some muscle in there somewhere. But it must be wayyyyy down there.
Week two: workout with Lori: What the hell is this? All new workout, and yet the same muscles are screaming at me. I cannot stop eating. I’m so hungry all the time. This is your fault, Lori. I’ll admit, I’m still in it to win it. So, my late night binges are Kashi cereal. 1/2 a cup at a time. I figure if I only do 1/2 a cup at a time, walking and taking the two stairs to and from the kitchen burns some of the calories. Prior to this investment of our trainer, my late night binges were brownies, ice cream, or those darned chocolate muffins.
I specifically asked Lori to tame my thunder thighs. So, why do my arms hurt so badly? Lori isn’t as sweet this time around. But she’s effective. Besides, if JulzHOLLA! and I wanted nice _ we’d stay home on the couch with Crunch_N_Munch _ exchanging compliments to each other over the phone, because driving to each other’s house would take too much energy. Clearly, we need Lori to not be nice to us, but firm and fair. She delivers.
I like to do fast repetitions _ you know, and get it over with. JulzHOLLA! is apparently not on board with this idea and she’s taking her reps nice and slow, leaving me with more downtime. Lori has caught on to this and has decided on a No Down Time policy and sent me running on the track until JulzHOLLA! finishes her set. Fearful memories of my glory days and my coach are re_surfacing. Could be they’re the same height and have strawberry blonde hair? Or could it be that they’re both brilliant, direct, call my distracting bullshitting out, and have the same scary finger pointing to go run?
Lori suggests at some point that since I have longer limbs, I should have more weight. This makes no sense to me. Poor small people just don’t get it. And I explain, “The longer the limbs, the further I have to extend. That’s just all the more way to push the weight. Trust me, I’m getting a workout here.” Lori is shocked at how weak my upper body seems to be. I am not shocked at all. But again, am reminded of the glory days when my coach tried to see what my max was on bench press. It turns out, my max weight was the bar. Coach was shocked too. And again, I was not.
We are scheduled to do the second workout of Week Two tomorrow. It feels good to get back into shape. I have more energy, and when I wrestle the kids, I’m starting to win again. So, that’s bonus. Well, that and the fact that I’m willing to wrestle with them…
It’s amazing at how little it takes to get out of shape, and how much it takes to get back into shape. And then, staying in shape is the next goal.
I’m going to Jamaica in a month _ and if any one can get me bikini_ready _ stretchmarks and all _ it’s Lori. She’s the only one who would accept the challenge, too.
That’s how I roll.
Song of the Day: Get Up Stand Up _ Bob Marley
Feb
22
