{{Fine! It’s another re-post!
But here’s a bathing suit picture to shame me into never re-posting the old shizz ever again.}}
I have this friend.
And she is lovely. She really is.
Very fit, exercise-y, trim. That kind of crap.
Also, very motivational.
Offering to train me, help me eat right, be my health “sponsor.”
Which is awesome.
But really, she’s like the blondie, feather-haired cheerleader sister you have, where never in six million years will you perform at the awesome over-achiever level she deems acceptable.
Also, she LOVES to work out.
Loves.
Like gets excited about it.
So right there we have nothing in common.
But I want to give myself to her just the same.
Hand my body over and say, “Go to town. Do what you need to do. I don’t need my legs to work today.”
Just to put it in context, this is the email she sent me yesterday:
(Paraphrased): Come to the gym with me! I want to do Power Pump first, then Cardio KickBox, then Spin class! Afterwards, let’s do six weeks of weight training and a yoga cool down!”
Whereas in response, I’m thinking (paraphrased): FUCK NO. But is there a smoothie bar?
See, I do like to not be enormous. I do prefer to not be a cotton ball of little to no muscle. It’s just that it seems so complicated. You know, getting in the car. Driving to a gym. Opening a locker. Getting on a treadmill.
I don’t think I’m genetically programmed to break a sweat. I know there’s a good reason for it. Probably something evolutionary, like I hail from a long line of Norwegian acid sweat-ers.
Still and yet. I promised to join my lithe, supple-muscled freak friend for a workout next week after the kids go back to school. I’m going to her gym for a week, during which time she hopes to transform me into someone who isn’t a human marshmallow.
Also! And funnily! She thinks maybe I might learn to like breaking a sweat!
Poor thing. She’s gonna be real sorry when all my skin burns off because of that Norwegian acid sweat thing.
I’m just saying: You do NOT mess with evolution.
HA! You and me think the same way. Put on workout clothes today and never made it there. Story of my life. Once my MIL made me do two workout classes right in a row — it was HELL. Why? Why do people enjoy such torture?!
Ha! I would totally need someone like that to drag me to the gym because no way in hell would I ever make it there on my own.
Before motherhood, I had a lot more motivation to go to the gym. I think wherever it is that I read about how we don’t need gyms, we live in San Diego, we just need to get active… that got me thinking heck ya! I don’t need no stinkin’ gym! But, the problem is I’m not getting outside and being active in nature either. Instead of getting in shape for my 10 year anniversary, hubby and I have vowed to get it together starting MONDAY. A Zumba class is calling my name. I just know it.
Once I went to an aerobics class in Hollywood with my friend Sheila. We mistakenly got into an amped up aerobics class. After about 8 minutes I knew I had to stop or call EMS. Sheila dropped out 2 minutes after me.
We then spent the rest of the afternoon being all pumped up and happy and in a great mood because of the endorphins that get released during death. I mean working out. It was the most amazing feeling.
I never did it again.
The problem with the gym is that it’s so damn boring. If you weren’t on the verge of a heart attack, you’d slip into a coma.
I cannot do a gym. I workout either outdoors or at home, but even then its so hard to motivate. I HATE working out, but somehow I manage to talk myself into it almost daily. Once a friend said to me “no one ever regrets working out, then only regret not working out” so I try to go with that and make it happen. Even if its just a 20 minute brisk walk, I tell myself “at least I did SOMETHING”
Oh, you’re singing my song, lady. The idea of the gym is equally taunting and baffling. I need someone like your friend to drag me along.
And I wished I looked as good as you do in a swimsuit. So there.
You are HILARIOUS. I love you, girl and I freaking LOVE this post. Let’s get smoothies and chocolate bars if we ever meet in person, K? Also – you still need to email me your mailing address…please!
I’m Swedish and have a similar acid thing.
Which means I hate hate hate the gym.
When I’m running in the open air, I can fool myself into thinking I’m not sweating because that crap dries on my skin while I’m still outside.
I sometimes don’t even shower after. (Shhh.)
So.
I wish you luck in your pursuit of non-cotton-balliness (I’m sure that’s a thing); but when we get together, let’s just agree to not work out.
It will be a sacrifice. But we Scandinavians must stick together.
Someone’s gotta stand up for evolution.