Filed under: Exercise, Middle Age, Posts | Tags: barn moms, barns, Exercise, Horses, pushups, soccer moms, step class, SUV, triceps
One of the benefits of working in an office is that I have been cultivating a nice store of fat around my stomach that keeps me warm now that the office air conditioning has kicked the temperature down to “Tundra.” Seriously, my index finger actually went numb the other day.
So, my schedule being what it is (work in the meat locker all day, take teenager to the barn, stay at barn while she rides, go home and fix Bagel Bites for dinner – it’s real food – and collapse in a super-sexy snoring heap on the couch), I have tried to get creative with my workouts.
Walking on country roads is interesting, if you don’t care much about fancy sports cars driven by a mid-life crisis speeding around corners and flicking you off because you’re in their space. If you go off-road for your walk, keep walking right to the drug store and get some cortisone for the poison ivy and chiggers.
So in the words of Clint Eastwood, I improvised. I adapted. I overcame.
I started working out in the back of the SUV while parked at the barn.
This workout is not for the faint of heart. Cross training? Please.
You’ve got nothing on someone who can do sit-ups and leg lifts
with only their upper body supported in the back of an SUV littered with hay, miscellaneous barn paraphernalia and water bottles…
…in the heat and dust, with 20 deer flies buzzing around the car like 13-year-olds around the mall, and with somebody’s smelly soccer cleats next to their head because nobody ever remembers to take them out of the car after practice.
Who needs a weight room bench? I’ve got a scraped-up bumper that serves nicely for my tricep workout.
Sideways planks and pushups work well off the bumper, too.
Of course, I’m not limited to the SUV exercises at the barn, although those can be done anywhere (except where your teenager thinks someone might see you).
Mats? Are you kidding? Try doing pushups in a barn with manure everywhere. You will not be touching the floor with anything except your hands and toes, I can promise you. And if you can’t do a real pushup horizontally, find the nearest fence or your car bumper and do them from a 45-degree angle.
Step class? Got that covered too. Find the nearest mounting block and there’s your step. Hop up and down on that a couple hundred times and you’ll never complain about the stairs at your house again.
Need to work the biceps and shoulders? Grab a bucket and put some water in it, then do your lifts. How about the rest of my arms, you ask? Easy – just brush a horse from head to toe. You’d be amazed how tired your arms get in 10 minutes. Wax on, wax off. Mr. Miyagi had something there.
And finally….cardio. No need to get on the treadmill or elliptical (a.k.a. the “I-limp-and-drool”) – go put a horse out in the field after being in all day, and then try to catch it again. Good luck – you’ll be chasing that beast for an hour. Scared of horses? Then walk the empty fields searching for the fly mask each horse managed to scrape off the day before.
Not a barn mom? Don’t despair – these exercises can be modified to fit any sports mom schedule, especially the SUV workout. Soccer mom? Try lifting their sports bags or water bottles instead of a bucket. Run or walk around the playing fields, but don’t do any arm exercises when you’re doing that – the paramedics might be called because your child has died of embarrassment.
Filed under: Posts | Tags: adulthood, business, business etiquette, business travel, conferences, Exercise, gym, hotels, humor, office etiquette, seminars, sports, subourbonmom, travel
- Guys, don’t try and join the few women who actually attended the conference in the one section of comfy chairs we claimed as our own, and then ask whether sending flowers to your angry girlfriend is the correct course of action. Here’s why:
- We obviously want some girl time in a male-dominated environment;
- Your creepy designer jeans and big gold chain scream out, “I’m trying to hook up while I’m out of town” and troll in the Holiday Inn Lounge on a Tuesday night; and
- You clearly suck as a boyfriend, so why would we be interested anyway? (And by the way, creepy-guy-who-did-that, texting you’re sorry to your “girlfriend” doesn’t cut it either.)
- We obviously want some girl time in a male-dominated environment;
- The GYM, Part 1: When you go to the gym, remember that you’ll be seeing half those people again while you’re sitting in a lecture—that awesome pilates move where you throw your legs over your head? They’re going to remember that and look at you funny later.
- The GYM, Part 2: Wear yoga or sweat pants—and I mean everyone—I don’t want to see your junk hanging out of your swishy running shorts, Dude-on-the-Treadmill. I have to look at you later, too.
- Ask at the desk if there will be a karaoke night while you’re there—then make sure your room is not directly above the caterwauling.
- Make sure “just a couple of blocks” means the same thing in the conference city as it does in yours.
- Ask the questions you think are too dumb to say out loud—chances are, you’re not the only one who feels that way or wants to know.
- You can tell the level of confidence the conference sponsors have in their speakers by how cold they’ve set the room temperatures: cold = snoozeville.
- Bring a travel mug—the tiny little dollhouse cups they provide hold exactly three swallows of coffee, and after sitting in a conference room the same temperature as, say, Boston this week, you need something warm with you at all times.
- Sometimes that $14 bourbon from the hotel bar (on my personal card and after classes were done, Mr. CFO) is worth it.
- It’s not cool to go back to work in the dead of winter with a tan on your face and arms–some people find that irritating.
Filed under: Exercise | Tags: Exercise, gym, humor, Middle-Age, mom, southern, sports, workouts
In my quest to keep myself occupied at the gym, I have started playing the game, “What animal does he/she look like?” Most of the time the people look like what they are—overweight homo sapiens. Occasionally, though, some stand out. Here are a few:
The Gerbil (this would be me): I didn’t realize I look like one until a guy walked by grinning and making gerbil hand motions at me as I powered through on the I-limp-and-drool. There are a lot of us doing this, so I didn’t feel too bad, but it did cross my mind that if Obama is looking for alternative energy sources, he could just hook something up to the gym machines in America. Of course, there would have to be tax incentives.
The Sloth: These people trudge into the gym, wearing the same expression one has when sitting down in a chair to read a book, which is what the Gym Sloths do. They bring a book/magazine/iPad to a recumbent machine and proceed to slowly pedal for a good 45 minutes. They rarely break a sweat and are in zero danger of causing undo stress on their heart or joints. But hey—they’re not sitting on the couch.
The Peacock: These members are usually dressed in some form of spandex or lycra, and deserve to wear it. They preen and pose and flex as they work out, glancing around to see who is watching. (In the gym I go to, these folks don’t show up until after 5:00 p.m., when happy hour is fueled by exercise endorphins, instead of cheap alcohol.) What’s fun is watching one peacock show off for another, only to have the one they are trying to attract start preening for someone else. Not much different than a club, or a henhouse, I suspect.
The Magpies: These are the moms who show up in groups or meet there for some much-needed adult chat. They frequently climb on the treadmills or the I-limp-and-drools and chirp away, moving at a pace fast enough to justify being there but not so fast they gasp as they gossip. While they exercise, their bodies pop up and down, heads bobbing, looking like birds in a nest (or whack-a-mole).
The Chameleon: (me again) This person begins their workout with a normal skin tone, probably a little pale from pecking away in a cube all day. However, as their cardio workout progresses, their face and body language undergo some changes. First, their cheeks get pink, then red, until their faces turn into something resembling a rare tuna steak. At this stage, blood vessels burst and sweat drips onto the machinery. Controlled movements become a weak flailing, and their breathing sounds like a locomotive, or the puffing one hears during Lamaze class. While their appearance isn’t intended to serve as a form of camouflage, their ability to change appearance is remarkable.
The Cat: These women come to the gym dressed in sleek, black spandex yoga pants and fitted tops. There is not a panty line in sight. They are generally long and lean, and attract the envy of the other women, and the lust of everybody else. Men actually stop what they are doing to watch as these cat-like creatures slink through their routines. They slowly bend and stretch, demonstrating their flexibility and toned musculature. Having the grace of a hippopotamus, I’m totally jealous. Meow.
The Chicken: These male gym creatures come in all ages. They spend most of their time doing upper body work, and have the bulging pecs, biceps and triceps to prove it. However, they neglect the lower half of their bodies. Below their workout shorts emerge two spindly legs, looking remarkably like two pieces of kindling, or chicken legs.
Who knew the gym was such a wealth of entertainment? It’s my own personal version of Animal Planet.
Subourbon Mom 