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: Misc. Humor, Sports, Travel | Tags: boat, boating, cabelas, fish, Fishing, fun, jaws, marketing, outdoors, sportsman, vacation
I recently got my Cabela’s weekly supplement in the mail. As I was flipping through, marveling at the wide assortment of camouflage apparel and accessories, I came across a sale on fishing kayaks.
I’m a big fan of fishing – I love getting up at dawn, racing along the still waters of the lake to “the spot,” and casting in that rhythmic way that feels like meditating. I even love the small heart attack every nibble and bite produces – yes, I am probably the only person in the world who can make fishing stressful. But I still love it.
I also like kayaking – not as much, but it’s great exercise and is a wonderful way to see different things along the shoreline that you might otherwise not notice going 20 knots in the boat.
I DO NOT, however, like the idea of doing those two things at the same time.
I do not want to be on the same plane as the fish, especially if it’s a big catfish flopping around with spikes that can ruin your corn-on-the-cob-holding hand. Just because I like to eat a jar of pickles at a time doesn’t mean I want to sit in a vat of pickle juice while I do it.
I cannot fathom hooking a big old bass, wrestling it into…my lap? Are you kidding me? That small heart attack I mentioned would be nothing to the panic that would ensue after I got bitch-slapped by that fish.
Plus, I saw the movie Jaws. I am NOT going to hook a fish and be dragged to my death, bobbing and weaving like those yellow barrels.
So thank you, Cabela’s and all you avid sportspeople for combining two peaceful activities into one stressful, death-inducing trip into angler Hell.
You better believe “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
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.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: adulting, bars, beach, crime, drinking, fun, girls, hot tub, lifeguard, north carolina, Outer banks, relationships, rental, vacation, Virginia
Dear Rental House Owner –
Thank you so much for your nice letter and for helpfully providing your lawyer’s name and address, although I don’t think it will be necessary. We had a great girls’ weekend staying in your beach house, and everyone was so friendly! It’s nice when a bunch of middle-aged women can get together for some relaxing quiet time at the beach. I hope you saw that we replaced the wine glasses and re-stocked the liquor cabinet. The combination for the replacement padlock is written on a sticky note by the phone.
And thank you for asking if we got home okay after our night out. We had no idea that your friend Jim owns the _________________ Bar – he was very sweet to escort us personally to our car after Sarah twisted her ankle on the stage. It was also very kind of him to kick that married guy out after he said, “I like your rack” to Lisa. Those drinks the married guy sent over for us that tasted like liquid Skittles were nasty – give us good wine or bourbon any day – what was he thinking? Please tell Jim we hope we didn’t drive too many of his younger customers away with our dancing. Those millennial girls just don’t have the moves we do, and I think they were embarrassed at how much better we were. (They sure do know how to roll their eyes though.) But one nice girl came up to Cheryl and said it must be nice to trust your friends enough to let them hold while you hang upside down like that.
Your next-door neighbor was also very nice, letting us come up on one of his balconies to watch the sunset. When Terry fell and broke her wine glass because she miscounted the steps, he asked if she was okay and didn’t even comment on her speech impediment (it’s often confused with slurring). We cleaned up the wine and broken glass for him, but he had already gone inside so we couldn’t say thank you in person.
You must have a lot of crime in that area – that explains all the cameras. We would greatly appreciate it if you would please tell your other neighbors we were only trying to be helpful when we checked that their hot tub was clean and the heater was working (it was). You might also want to pass on that the cleaners didn’t do a very good job. There was lots of sand in the bottom of the hot tub and two bottles of Fireball had been left on the porch rail. We didn’t want the cleaners to get into trouble so we finished the Fireball off – hence the empties. There wasn’t much we could do about the sand. But if your neighbors find a diamond stud earring, they can put that towards the next cleaning fee.
We noticed that things were a bit dry in North Carolina, so we decided to save water for you by bathing over there. Lisa’s suit color tends to run, so she thought it might do better in the pool. Oh, and by the way, the neighbors also might want to have their pool deck leveled out. Apparently, what they saw on the camera was Lisa falling on the uneven pavement as she was putting her clean bathing suit back on. She must have bumped her head, because she put it on upside down and inside out. We still haven’t figured out how that’s even possible, but that’s Lisa for you. But don’t worry, she says she doesn’t have any interest in litigating the injury.
Yes, we did have one extra person stay overnight. The nice lifeguard we met at Jim’s bar offered to drive us home, and it’s a good thing he did because there aren’t a lot of Ubers around on the off season (none seemed available that late at night – we kept getting declined). I wonder if you know him? There can’t be that many lifeguards who also have a degree in tribal mating dances – that’s probably what you saw on your cameras. But it was extremely fortunate he was there because Cheryl must have had some kind of reaction to the food at the bar – she required mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The lifeguard was very concerned for her privacy so he took her into the other room and managed to revive her after several minutes. After that, it was late and he was tired, so the least we could do was let him spend the night. He was a real gentleman – he even fixed us all breakfast the next morning.
If you find the following items we would appreciate it if you would return them:
2 black bathing suit tops
1 pink thong
1 blue bathing suit bottom
1 floral eye mask
3 pairs of readers – black, navy blue and hunter green, varying strengths
Thanks again for your letter of concern, and as you can see, no lawyers will be necessary. We are happy to pay for any damages we didn’t already repair, but I don’t think the tire tracks in your front yard were from us. Sadly, there were a lot of drunk people out that night – some people just can’t handle themselves on vacation. Even the nice police officer who stopped us on the way home said the lifeguard was just driving a little fast. After looking into the car when Cheryl starting yelling “Don’t slur your driving!” and seeing that Lisa was a bit green around the gills, he decided to let us go. What an understanding young man! He even fist bumped the lifeguard. Your beach town is such a friendly place! You must feel so proud to have a house there!
Until next year,
The Girls.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, Douchebag, etiquette, friends, friendship, Middle-Age, New Girl, office humor, relationships, Roadhouse
I’ve figured out how I’m going to retire early. Stealing from the under-rated show New Girl, I’m going to start carrying around a Douchebag Jar.
In case you’re still scratching your head and wondering “What the hell is she talking about now?” here’s the deal: You carry a mason jar or whatever you have handy (depending on where you are it may need to be a full-on trash can), and whenever someone commits an act of douchebaggery, they must contribute a fine to the jar.
What is a douchebag? Urban Dictionary defines it as “An individual who has an over-inflated sense of self-worth, compounded by a low level of intelligence, behaving ridiculously in front of people with no sense of how moronic he appears.”
When can you point out that someone is acting like a douchebag? Well, that’s where it gets a little tricky. Generally, calling someone out for douchebaggery at work is not a good idea; after all, we are supposed to respect our colleagues and play nice in the sandbox, etc. Plus, it could get you fired:
Accuser: “You owe a dollar to the DB Jar.”
Co-Worker: “Why?”
Accuser: “Because you interrupted my client call to tell me you’re going to Bonaroo and MIGHT or MIGHT NOT be back on Monday.”
Co-Worker: “You’re just jealous. Going to Bonaroo doesn’t make me DB.”
Accuser: “No, but thinking your undefined availability while you’re at a concert matters more than my client call, does.”
Co-Worker: “You’re fired.”
Accuser: “You still owe The Jar, plus $20 more because you’re 50 and going to Bonaroo.”
Calling someone out that you don’t know, especially in public, can lead to violence (reference every bar fight ever).
So that leaves friends.
That’s right, sometimes you have to call out your friends. Most folks have at least one friend who periodically acts in a douche-baggy fashion and needs to be corrected. After all, isn’t that what friends are for? We are friends with people for lots of reasons, but one of the best is that they help to make us better people. Don’t believe me? When was the last time your friends gave you an eye roll or responded in a voice dripping with sarcasm to something you said? That’s your friends correcting your behavior, and in theory making you a better person. The Douchebag Jar is just another tool for correcting behavior.
Subourbon Mom 