Filed under: Exercise, Posts | Tags: 10k, Exercise, fun, marathon, monument, race, Running, sports, sportsbackers
- In all of your race pics (at a purchase price of a mere $18 each), there’s no thrill of victory or agony of defeat – you just look irritated, like your headband is too tight.
- You get super-annoyed and embarrassed when the guy running in the inflatable T-Rex outfit passes you – and yet you just can’t muster up the energy to try and catch him. Grandmas doing that weird run/walk thing also pass you…you know the ones – their upper bodies look like they are running, but their legs are just walking.
- You pour water on your face so you look sweaty just before you run past your gym’s sponsor tent, then walk the rest of the way.
- Every hill feels like Mount Everest, and nothing like level 10 on the tread mill.
- You consider stopping to see if the nice first aid people need any help in their pretty red tents; then you find the port-o-john with the longest line and stand in it.
- You don’t care at all what your race time is – you’re just happy you finished without needing a trip to the orthopedist and a bottle of Aleve.
- You own the cool Bluetooth headset but still carry your phone in its ridiculous mom-phone case.
- You seriously consider taking one of the beers those college kids in the togas are handing out, but you know it will end in guilt, a handful of Tums and maybe vomiting stealthily on T-Rex guy’s shoes from behind.
- Your special running socks don’t do shit – your hips, legs, and even your size-A boobs hurt after mile one. People who actually achieve nipple chafing seem like they’re another species.
- …and yet you sign up repeatedly for “races” with misplaced optimism:
- “I know I can do more than one mile this year…”
- “This year the weather will be warmer/cooler/sunnier/cloudier so I’ll do better…”
- “Wait…you put me in which flight?”
- “I’ll just start running with you guys and walk when I need to…”
- “Next year I’m going to start training earlier…and dress up as a Velociraptor.”
Filed under: Exercise | Tags: bicycle, bikes, Exercise, gerbil, gym, spin, sports, treadmill
One of the many reasons I’m not a runner is because it hurts every joint from your hips to your toes. When I hopped off the still moving treadmill and tried to stretch my hip by twisting my leg into a pretzel, the gym trainer made me get on the exercise bike instead.
I hate the bike. I hate it with a passion I usually reserve for pedophiles, animal abusers and people who don’t use their turn signals.
Partly, I hate it because I associate it with those ultra-considerate people who ride bikes on the country roads by my house, taking up an entire lane while going 10 mph, and holding up traffic for miles. I dislike those biking enthusiasts even more when they have the audacity to grump when I shoot past them because…that’s right, I LIVE ON THAT ROAD. Bikers, I’m glad you’re out for your afternoon of freedom and exercise, but I live 20 minutes from town – I’ve got shit to do and errands to run before I too can enjoy the great outdoors, and you’re making it take even longer.
But I digress.
Mostly I hate the exercise bike at the gym because I sweat like a politician telling the truth as I do the hill climb or whatever cardio Hell they’ve decided to throw at us. I start wheezing because it’s hard work pedaling up an imaginary hill to nowhere. I suck wind like I’ve been dutch-ovened after a chili cook-off because, in order to make the RPMs like I’m supposed to, I have to lean over and use the arm rests on the front of the bike. No big deal you say? You try flailing your legs in a tiny circle in record time while you’re bent in half. It’s like running on a gerbil wheel while trying to lick your stomach.
Did I mention that I hate the bike?
When I’m done, completely spent and in danger of becoming a “sprinkler,” (one whose sweat dances off their body and onto others) I go to the office, shower and examine the damage. I will never be able to go to the OBGYN while I’m having to ride this Inquisition torture device – there would be some questions asked about the bruises all over my inner thighs. Helloooo…ever heard of seat cushions, oh Makers of the Almighty Exercise Bike?
So, I went out and bought some actual exercise leggings for an added protective layer. It didn’t help. I still look like I’ve been riding a bony bucking bronco every morning.
And I will never understand those people who do spin classes and say how much they love it, how addicted they are.
I think it’s a cult.
They probably keep hundreds of gerbils spinning on wheels in their homes just to watch them go, because they’re so obsessed; and, I’ll bet some of them spin to power their eco- and gerbil-friendly homes as they try to challenge Lance Armstrong’s over-sized, steroid-tripping heart. Over-achievers, if you ask me. I would much rather walk and jog on a fake road, thank you very much.
I will always hate the exercise bike, but the bottom line (aside from the ones on my actual bottom) is that it does rest my hip joints, and I’m no longer in danger of flying off the back of the treadmill while I stretch during the hardest parts of the workout (I’m not stupid – I’m not going to waste the walking portion with stretching).
So don’t worry Lance, you and your gerbils are in no danger from me.
Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: adulthood, gym, health, mens health, orange theory, Running, trainer, women's health
There are several health care jobs I know I could never do, mostly because they’re just gross or dealing with negativity – dentists (scared patients), ear-nose-throat docs (green noses make me dry-heave), and gynecologists (just…eeewww), to name a few. But one of the most underrated jobs has got to be exercise/gym trainer.
Before you roll your eyes and say, oh please, they make their own hours and get to play in a gym for their job, let me point out a few things:
Gym trainers have to look good every day to sell their product. Slapping on some makeup or pricey cologne and throwing on a cute dress or fancy suit after a blurry night out aren’t going to do it. Trainers have to be perky (almost annoyingly so) and looking fresh every time, like they just stepped out of a fitness magazine or off the beach after a refreshing jog along the waterline – they’re selling a body and motivation. No one wants a fat trainer lazily leaning against a stack of weights telling them how to not be fat and lazy.
Trainers have to exude motivation, even when they’ve been up half the night with a vomiting kid, or are regretting eating that entire Chipotle bowl. An object at rest tends to stay at rest, and lots of clients feel like they have already produced a herculean effort just to get to the gym in the first place. For some, that includes just trying to get their sports bra on. They’re not happy about getting out of bed at the crack of dawn or leaving the office after a crappy day of work and heading to a place that makes them alternately miserable and euphoric. But trainers have to somehow make these people exercise until they sweat, hearts pounding and bodies straining with every lift, curl or push – and they must do it in a way that doesn’t make their clients hate them. At Orange Theory, the gym I go to, Hannah and John have mastered this – God bless ’em!
Trainers who teach the early morning classes are a special breed. Not only do they have to look good and be cheerful around a bunch of sleepy, grumpy people who have desperately fueled up on coffee in a pitiful attempt to make it through the class, trainers endure hours of garlic sweat (don’t be that guy), morning breath and general B.O. (because why bother if you’re just going to shower before going to work?).
So be kind to your trainer. Say thank you after class, even though yes, you are paying for it. Appreciate that they got out of bed even earlier than you so you could get to your 5am class, and they never said a word to you the day you came in smelling like PF Changs.
I used to try hard to be that perfect wife (although Hubby may beg to differ), the perfect mom, the perfect employee, the perfect owner of this body, and a good citizen.
It was so cute that I thought those things were actually achievable. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized none of these perfect people exist.
The perfect wife doesn’t exist – based on what I’ve heard men talk about, that’s actually an impossibility, considering we are generally out of commission for a week every month, and it’s illegal to marry your mother. Those socks aren’t picking themselves up off the floor, My Love.
The perfect mom doesn’t exist either. I tried (briefly) to be the organic mom, but I just don’t have the patience, I shave my legs and I don’t wear Jerusalem Cruisers every day. So Daughter #2 lived off of Nestle Quik in the womb. As a parent in a world where kids have porn at their fingertips, I’ve tried to tell my kids the right amount of information, but not too much: “No, I will not tell you the worst things I did in middle school,” was me being protective of all of us, but telling them “Tea-bagging is…” may not have been the best move. Nope – not perfect.
I also tried to get the fam to church so the kids can at least make an informed decision when they are old enough. But like many people with kids in sports and crazy schedules we fell off the wagon. We used to go at least once a month and felt pretty self-righteous by 11:30 am on those Sundays; then we became “C&E Christians,” only going on the BIG DAYS. Now we’re pretty much just “W&F Christians” – Weddings and Funerals.
Yeah…so not perfect there either. That actually might be a C- or a D.
As an employee, I’m probably a B- (if only that brain-to-mouth filter actually worked).
I even try to be good to my body, but let’s face it – you’d have to have the discipline of the Dalai Lama to turn down all the yummy treats that float by every day. Plus, that whole middle-aged bike tire that recently wrapped itself around my waist has made that goal frustrating. Why starve myself if it’s just going to hang around my waist like a boa constrictor that’s too lazy to finish me off?
Yeah, I’ve become pretty comfortable with the fact that life is a lot like school – C’s get degrees.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful for those of you who are A and B achievers in life – you make my “C” life possible and comfortable. So, here’s my pledge: I’ll try not to always be that kid sitting in the back of the classroom, flicking spit balls at people and making drip noises with my cheeks while you all run the world. I’ll try to pay attention and contribute, even when I’m not called upon.
I might even get my own recycling bin.
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts, Travel | Tags: Cats, dogs, drinking, Exercise, health, hiking, Middle-Age, Outlander, resolutions, Scotland, travel, yoga
(Not that any of you should even remotely care what my resolutions are this year, I thought maybe you could use some ideas.)
Dear Self –
Learn to pay in cash – not only will you save money, but the super-annoying “Remove Card” buzzer when using the debit card will no longer send you over the edge in Food Kitty
Do yoga in the living room – just because it humiliates you that Sting’s 
wife is 63 years old and can twist herself like a pretzel is no excuse for you not doing her yoga DVD that you spent $20 on
Sleep more – that means stop playing Candy Crush in bed – you’re the only person on the planet who’s still doing it
Stop playing games on phone…except at stop lights…and while watching tv…and while waiting for the fam to go anywhere…and while Hubby’s driving…
Write more family-friendly blogs
Start anonymous blog page so you can write about the fam
Save money for hiking trip in Scotland (a.k.a. satisfy Outlander fetish)
Run a 10k
Run a 5k
Walk every day
Walk once a week
Hike once a month to train for hiking trip in Scotland
Drink only on weekends…or when out socially…or after a really, really crappy day at work…or when the cats pee in the house…or when the recipe requires wine…
Stop cooking with recipes requiring wine
Be nicer to the dogs
Be nicer to the cats
Subourbon Mom 