Wednesday, April 30, 2014
I like to think of myself as a dedicated runner. I also like to think of myself as a six-foot tall redheaded showgirl, so we can see where this is going.
I used to run a minimum of 36 miles a week, and can’t remember why. Oh, wait--my husband said something about I wasn’t using my education or my mind these days, and who wants to hear that? So I ran until I didn’t think about it—and until my right Achilles tendon threatened to pop like a piano wire.
Nowadays I sort of lurch along, three miles a day. It’s pitiful. So I had to find something to supplement the pitiful.
A friend—who, it turns out, is far fitter than me—loaned me the Insanity DVD series. From it I learned two things: 1) I hate trainers named Sean and 2) If you can do 15 minutes of Insanity, God bless you.
Less than halfway through the Insanity fit test—this is BEFORE the real program even starts—I was panting like a pit bull in August. I thought I would throw up in the fake ficus tree. On the fourth burpee my cross necklace flew up and hit my front tooth. I paid too much for that tooth. I turned the DVD off. Take that, Sean.
(I hear P90X—which sounds like the chemical formula for Windex-- is a lot like Insanity. Won’t be doing that, either.)
My friend also loaned me a Jillian Michaels DVD. Jillian promised to “get me shredded,” which certainly sounds exciting. I’ve never watched The Biggest Loser so there were no preconceived notions. I just knew she was short, loud and had a rocking body.
Now I know she is not human.
Go ahead, give Jillian a try. Here are 20 things you will think while busting your… abs.
Jillian has such pretty hair. I wonder what conditioner she uses?
HOLY GOD, I CANNOT BREATHE.
Stay calm. Exhale on the effort, inhale on the rebound. Or is that backwards?
My mouth is so dry.
I can do this. It’s not that hard.
It’s HARD. I hate this. I want my mommy.
My mouth is so parched my lips are actually cracking. Jillian has nice moist lips. I bet someone puts lip balm on her between takes. I hate her wet lips.
If God had meant for me to kick like a donkey, I’d eat oats and bray.
I still can’t breathe. Luckily, I’m past caring.
My brother used to date a girl who looked like Jillian. I hated her, too.
I can no longer feel my calves.
If I staggered out into the front yard right now, my neighbors would flee screaming.
My tongue is actually protruding from my mouth.
Cooldown should start soon. Where are you cooldown? I NEED COOLDOWN. NOW. BEFORE I CUT SOMEBODY!
Why are we kick-boxing? This is so unfair!
I bet her real name isn’t Jillian. I bet it’s Mabel or Esther and she’s making us all pay for the awful name her parents gave her. IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I WASN’T THERE!
I’m no longer sweating. Isn’t that a bad sign?
I’m coming for you, Jillian. That’s right, I’m heading to California to find you and—COOLDOWN! Thank you, Lord! Thank you!
If I can remember to breathe, soon I can get up off the floor. Soon. One can only hope.
I am willing to concede one point: It might be less painful to start using my education and my mind.
Julie R. Smith, who is still on the floor, can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.