As I swam my laps this morning I had dairy on my mind.
Cottage cheese as a matter of fact.
Over the years as I’ve scooted up to the:
table/bar/picnic basket/vending machine/convenience store/drive thru/lunch counter/deli/hot dog stand…
I’ve gone from delicate skim milk to large curd cottage cheese on my *ss.
The journey “from” large curd to small curd on the booty isn’t actually as long as the journey “to” but it’s infinitely more difficult.
I was able to perform much of the “to” in the comfort of my very own house, from my very own (& incredibly comfy I must say) couch with a very weighty (metaphorically speaking) remote control in my hand and a large wonderful television at my beck & call.
The “from” is enacted in the dark of night when only the asinine birds are awake & I stumble into a place smelling vaguely of my high school gym (Go Warriors!) and some sort of liniment that you’re only told about after the age of 97.
It’s a slow, arduous process but I do see improvement occasionally in the (funhouse) mirror so I think I’ll continue.
Although, that damned frozen pizza aisle is calling to me & my couch looks longingly at me as I drag my (insert donkey word) back into the house each morning.
I wave a tearful goodbye to my old friend & head back out to (reluctantly) greet the day…
As I made my way into the gym this morning I was treated to the sight of the slowest line dancing I’ve ever witnessed.
Four rows of elderly booties shaking & moving to the sounds of (in my headphones) Tenacious D.
Removing said headphones, Olivia Newton John came into focus & Let’s Get Physical swam into my aural view. I was amazed & horrified at the same time. I do have to admit that when I resumed Tenacious D the (what I finally realized was aerobics) class got a lot more interesting.
I imagined the beginnings of a mosh pit in the circle of yoga mats. Henry & Mortimer would be trading blows over Ethel because both we’re so jealous & attracted to her irresistible blue mohawk while Tenacious D’s most famous song (Yes, that one. The only song I’ve ever heard use Zanzibar in the lyrics) played & the beginnings of Higher Ground from the Red Hot Chili Peppers made its entrance.
Giggling to myself I headed over to a seemingly innocent medieval device called the incline press.
If you want to feel like a total loser, try the incline press.
I feel like a total loser.
I put 100 pounds on it & proceeded to shriek in agony. By the time I did my third set my arms were shooting flames.
I think I spotted.
Although I’m pretty sure the flames looked neat from afar, I know that the next couple of days are going to be spent in quiet pain as I recover from that diabolical machine.
Just got back from my annual (not) physical & the Doc assures me that my arms & legs are indeed still attached and my head is still screwed on correctly if just a bit bent.
Luckily, I’m still under 50 so the doc’s fingers remained where they ought to and I made it out of the office whimper free.
Just like King Julian I’m physically fit, physically fit, physically, physically, physically fit! (If you have young kids you’ll recognize this from Madagascar) I may now continue with my self emasculating with professional approval.
What I think I look like while doing curls…
It seems that many of my workout mornings are sponsored by the letter “F”.
I’m pretty sure that the reason there’s an exercise called “preacher curls” is because the entire time you’re doing them you’re praying to the almighty that your arms will stop the screaming.
I kept getting worried looks from the aerobics instructor so I just left them there at the bench unhappily pistoning away. At that point I didn’t even care that I looked ridiculous.
They’ll make their way home later.
FYI… “F” is for Fantastic because that’s how I feel.
FAN $&#%ing TASTIC…
What I actually look like while doing curls.
Stay thirsty my friends…