I can still picture my elementary school gym clearly: an expansive, flourescently lit, linoleum tiled room with one large high window and six basket ball goals. It sat near one end of the long, quiet hallway that made up the primary artery of Abbett Elementary, stretching from kindergarten to the fifth grade hallway.
The gym resided down at the kindergarten end, along with the choir room and cafeteria. You can go ahead and guess which one was my least favorite. I’ll even give you a hint: it’s the one in which I nearly bit off the front of my tongue when I tried to kick a ball, missed entirely, and fell flat onto that white linoleum tile.
I had some identity defining moments in that room. Take for instance, the morning in fourth grade when I was set in front of a metal bar, screwed precariously into the wall, and told to do a pull-up. I don’t know if it’s reasonable to ask an 8 year old to lift the weight of her body times the force of gravity, but it was. not. happening.
By the time I made it to middle school I had a pretty clear understanding of my capabilities: math, yes, chin-ups, no. reading, yes, running, no. spelling, yes, leaping o’er obstacles, no.
I say all this so that you will be properly entertained when I tell you that I purchased P90X. I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this yet, but I like food, desserts particularly. For evidence see here or here or here or the end of here. But seriously. That combined with the fact that I now have an office job where I sit all day and people give me free cookies, means that I have not exactly been getting into wedding shape.
So I’m being proactive. But I don’t like gyms. All the 8-year-olds who successfully completed their pull-up grew up to be gym members. And when they see me struggling with my five pound weight, I imagine they judge me the same way I judge people who say, “Your doing great!”*
Hence, P90X. Work-outs I can complete alone. Embarrassment confined to my bedroom.
I started last night, day one, core poly-something. I got through the first twenty minutes, and I’m not gonna lie, I was getting smug. I was all like, “This isn’t that hard. I can’t totally do this. Look at me, exercising and stuff.”
And then around the 22.36 minute mark, every one my muscle groups got together, held a conference, and unanimously decided that they were done. To be fair to them, the entirety of my working out for the last 4 months was a handful of evening jogs and a push-up. But still, they totally gave up on me.
I kept going until about minute 35, whereupon I decided that if you’re working out past midnight, you are not obligated to finish the whole video. That’s the great thing about working out alone. I can make up my own rules.
But I will say, the videos are motivating. Mostly because I want to show up blondie and the super obnoxious host who says things like, “Man I’d love to be doing these with you, but wouldn’t you know it, I have a mic pack on, so no can do.” Seriously. I’m going to keep doing push-ups so that if I ever get the chance to punch his eternally sweat-free face, it will hurt his jaw at least almost as much as it will hurt my hand.
I’ll let you know if my abs start to resemble those of Kerri Walsh. But if you don’t here from me again, know that I went out fighting for a noble cause: trying to fit into my skinny jeans.
*It hurt to type that.