Death by Lunges

OK, I started 'back' to my workouts last week. It's the 'back' part that gets me. Going 'back' means I have taken a leave of absence, which means I'm on a path that moves not forward, but in a circle. Kind of like the end of the Blair Witch Project, 'Didn't we pass that tree already?!?!' And just as scary.

I like the classes at the YMCA, except for one thing of which I will scribble on a comment card very soon. They put a FULL LENGTH mirror up that covers BOTH sides of the room! You cannot escape. Into the fantasy. That you look anything like the instructor. So, as I waltzed into said room for my favorite Body Pump class, feeling good, healthy, even proud, I caught a glance at what my hiatus-plus-Blue Bell had done to my mid section. I spent the rest of the class trying to think of similes about my feelings. Never got a good one. Here's a few.

"Her stomach followed her into the room like an obnoxious friend."
"Her stomach stared back at her like the judgmental priest in the confessional."
"Her stomach drew unwelcome attention like prison time during the job interview."

These are awful, I know.

Then, during biceps, I was staring at the instructor. Her arms were pure rope, her stomach ripped, her encouraging words clear of any huffing and puffing. Then, an amazing thing happened, as I realized I will NEVER look ANYTHING like her. I started to see each person in the room, and go with me here, as a different kind of dog (Yes, I need help. Please see last blog for more evidence.)

Why haven't humans been categorized this way?? I, for example, would be a Labrador Retriever. Friendly, loyal, family oriented, slightly chubby with a love of naps. The instructor, on the other hand, is clearly something like, say, a Jack Russell Terrier. Wiry, busy, not that into eating, and impossibly devoid of body fat. Me, Lab, her, terrier. Labs will never be terriers. And vice versa. This realization actually made me feel good . . . free. As I mentioned earlier, forty is coming sooner than later, and I am more and more comfortable just being me. As we moved onto abs, and I 'pulsed for three', I knew that all I had to do was be the best Lab I could be. Oh happy day! (wag, wag:)

On a more negative note, the person who invented the lunge must die. Die a slow death. Perhaps by doing the tortuous move they created. Yes, death by lunges. The person would be dragged into a ring, Coliseum style, and made to perform lunges until they died, or lost consciousness, while all us fat bottomed girls watched. Eating Blue Bell.

: :

Mom, this is for you. I know it will make you 'big as the sky' happy:)

I had nothing to do with it. I will never remove wallpaper again since my Albany experience when I stripped the first layer of skin off my hands -- eek! Joe and his mini-me did it. So cute! (Mini-me was sad. She liked the giant flowers:)

Downstairs bathroom.






Upstairs bathroom.



Home improvement with a tiara.