On Monday I decided it was time to get serious about my workout regimen.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I spent most of Monday morning doing anything but exercising, including organizing all our tax information for our accountant. So, what I’m basically saying is I’d rather write a check to the IRS than work off all the Grande Peppermint Mochas that I drank over the winter.
But, eventually, our checkbook was balanced, our junk drawer was organized and I’d played so many games of Pathwords that I’ll never be able to use my right hand to point at anything ever again. I thought maybe I had some T.V. programming on the DVR that I needed to catch up on, but all that was left were a few episodes of “The Spirit of the Wild”.
I was left with no other option than to put on my workout clothes because I’d rather exercise than watch Uncle Ted talk about killin’ it and grillin’ it.
After donning my workout apparel, I decided I needed to do something other than the elliptical machine. It’s not that the elliptical isn’t a good workout, but it’s more of a cardiovascular thing and, last time I checked, my heart rate didn’t have cellulite.
I searched for my “Fat Burning Pilates” DVD, but couldn’t remember where I left it when I last used it in March 2008. Then I had a vague recollection of opening the drawer of the armoire last December, seeing the “Fat Burning Pilates” DVD case, and feeling that I was being mocked by the smug look on the instructor’s face.
Sure enough, there she was in the drawer. Smiling from ear to ear in her yoga pants and kicky green sports bra, as if she’d never dealt with the temptation of eating a pound of cheese in one sitting. I don’t trust a woman who looks as though she never enjoys some cheese.
I put in the DVD and ostensibly began to burn fat with all the perky girls and their six-pack abs. Since it had been a year since I last attempted and failed to complete this workout, I forgot that the musical accompaniment is a shady-looking guy playing the bongos. Clearly, they are all high. How else do you explain all the joy and the bongo-playing? It’s not like they’re at a luau.
So I grabbed my iPod because I knew the only person that could get me through this was Justin Timberlake. Sure enough, JT and I got into a pretty good rhythm until I got a little too enthusiastic with one of my side lunges and fell over the ottoman, which served as confirmation of my decision to never exercise in public.
Anyway, I finished the workout through sheer determination and the thought of how good it would feel to tell that guy what he could do with his bongos if I were in the same room with him.
My feeling of accomplishment lasted all the way until the next morning when I sat down to go to the bathroom and couldn’t stand back up without using the toilet paper holder for leverage. I thought about calling for help, but, while I may no longer have functioning thigh muscles, I still have my dignity.
Of course, it took my dignity and me the better part of three and half minutes to get up.
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