It’s good for you.
You’ll feel better.
I hate exercise.
Sadly, however, I’ve reached that magical age that I will not lose another single pound unless exercise accompanies eating healthy.
I started going to the gym with 3 of my SIL’s a couple of years ago. My BIL is a personal trainer and has a studio, and we can use the space before hours. So, we met there at 5:15 am and worked out for about an hour, three times a week. And I use the term “work out” loosely, because our regiment involved mostly sitting on the exercise bike and laughing until we either peed, or fell off.
But then, about a year and a half ago, Jensen stopped sleeping through the night. On the bright side, the nightly rendezvous were a good source of blog fodder. But sadly, I stopped meeting up with my SIL’s at the gym, vowing I would instead get on my treadmill. Which I did.
Fast forward to last week. Dare I say it, but Jensen is sleeping through most nights, and I surprised my SIL, also known as Aunt Trish, by showing my weary face at the gym at 5:15. But the girls had a little surprise for me. It seems that they’ve gotten all serious about their workouts. And Trish purchased a DVD series from Beachbody.com which will transform a different area of your body with each workout. Killing you in the process.
Now, she had two options for workout series. A) the one for decrepit, older, out of shape types, or B) one for intrepid athletes.
She opted for B.
Oh happy day.
Not to be outdone, I jumped in with both feet. So last Friday, after a cardio warm up on the bikes and stairclimber, we tackled lunges, squats and other such methods of torture.
When I dragged my weary middle aged body through the front door at 6:30 am last Friday, taking great care to avoid the plague of frogs at our entry way, Fiddledaddy was waiting for me.
“So, how did you do?”
“I hope you don’t mind serving me while I recline on the couch all day,” I mumbled as I found my way to the hot shower.
Trish called me later in the morning, “How are you feeling?”
“Well, I find that I have to keep moving, because if I slow, rigor mortus sets in. I’m eating all of my meals in transit. Can’t wait for next week.”
Friday night I slept with not one, but two ice packs. One for my lower abs. And one that rested on the top of my head to soothe my headache. Because the children spent the day working out my last nerve.
And now, after pilfering through the children’s halloween booty, I have no choice but to continue. So, I’ve concluded that I’m going to have to invest in a full length body ice pack, a case of Ben Gay, and an industrial size bottle of extra strength Tylenol.
Oh yes, and a rifle to take care of the creepy frogs that are waiting to pounce on me at dark thirty on workout days.