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, feathered-hair 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 hale from a long line of Norwegian acid sweaters.
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.
I’m trying very hard to get back into exercising regularly. And it’s not easy! Good luck next week!
amen, sister. i, too, have that friend. just take me to the spa, please!
It’s like we’re the same person. Really. And I can tell you from experience that you are about to hate your friend’s guts.
This is so funny! I believe many people can relate to this, even the work-y out-y people. I workout, but I don’t love it. Honest. It’s either that, or take the little pills. Funny, funny, funny!
La la la la, I’m not listening! In *my* head, you work out to be as trim as you are (shut up! You TOTALLY are!) and to prove otherwise I would have to follow you around or something, because if I wanted your body? I would have to work out for hours, and hours, and hours….
The paraphrasing of her email just made me crack up!!! And, Norwegian Acid Sweat??? Dying.
I think I’ve got that Norwegian problem too.
This is great! Ugh, I do not like to move my body in such a way to cause exertion, sweat or muscle tone. It’s just not for me. Good luck at the gym! I say ditch her if you can, and hide out in the steam room or whirlpool. Oh and bring a little vodka to put in the smoothie you get from the smoothie bar.
I think I’m allergic to sweating. It makes me tired. So do my kids. Maybe I’m allergic to kids…
I have 2 relatives, oddly not related to each other or to me except by marriage/adoption, that have this work out thing and both of them swear that if I just gave it a try that I would love it, or at least learn to. I’m thinking I will be blissfully marshmallowy right along with you. Except maybe I’ll be a bit (a big bit) bigger than you. But whatever.
I’ve heard it’s possible to reach a Nirvana-like state while exercising. But I’m not buying it.
I guess I am in the minority in that I love to exercise and hate it when I miss a workout. I think it can become a bit of an obsession or like a drug. It’s the only time I don’t mind sweating. Otherwise, I detest sweat.
What I don’t like about exercising; what worked fine 10 years ago isn’t doing anything for me now. Drat!
I love you!!! Tomorrow when I complain that I need to work out, just tell me NO!
Since you and Jessica (Bern) are friends, and since I adore her and her blog, and since she already knows I am a type-A grammar and spelling freak with nothing better to do, I am going to let you know that it’s “HAIL” from “Norwegian acid sweaters”, not “HALE”. (And that you think you may be a descendant of some non-alkaline cardigan from Norway frightens me…)Love your blog, and love that you use the “F” word. Just sayin’. Plus, I’m from SD, too.
OK, but I’m going to keep the grammatical errors up…because I feel it humanizes me and makes me less intimidating to those who put me on a pedestal.
Being idolized is so exhausting!