I am thankful for my health. I am thankful for my health. I am thankful for my health. I am … OW.
So, we’ve been slacking off on the working out aspect of our weeks, since Nick was laid off… he’s not too into getting up early in the morning with me, and god knows I’m not going to do this horrible shit without him pushing me harder than I want to go and me yelling back at him about how much I hate him. It’s our together time. Why, it was just the other day that I called him a sadistic fucker who should rot in hell. Relationship building, you know.
I kid. I bitch and whine and moan but that’s because I think I’m being funny, even when I’m not. Especially when I’m not. But regardless, we needed to get back into this. Nick kept making noise about how he was going to start working out again during the day… when I’m not there. No! If he gets in better shape and I don’t, then I’ll be left behind and one day I’ll be too fat to move and he’ll be all bronzed-god-like and I won’t be able to convince him to bring me Nutella anymore…
Nah, I’m pretty sure he’d still love me, but I’m slightly competitive and while I don’t need to WIN, I at least need to be in the running.
So, last Saturday, we bought memberships and a month pass at Britannia Community Centre, which has a pretty decent gym and a rather nice pool. The idea (and so far, execution) has been that on Sundays/Tuesdays/Thursdays, we get up at the godawful hour of 6:45am, haul ourselves over to the community centre, work out until 8ish, then do lengths until 8:30ish, and then drop me off at work for 9. Well, except weekends, in which case we go whenever we feel like it.
We started on Saturday this week (switching to Sundays from now on) and so this morning was our third trip.
I. Am. So. Sore.
And tired. Being used to cutting it as Close as Humanly Possible as far as time I get up for work, especially since I’ve been leaving the morning dog-walk up to Nick (Justice likes to sleep in most of the time anyway) … 6:45 is EARLY. Like, a full hour before my alarm even starts going off, and I usually hit snooze a few times…
No such luck. 6:45, we get up, check our email, pat the very-confused-dog who stays in bed because SHE’S not the idiot who’s getting up that early and head out the door. For PAIN.
Interesting thing learned: I’m not actually a very good swimmer.
I took swimming lessons as a kid, and I’ve always enjoyed splashing around in a pool, and have absolutely no concerns there. I always assumed that I could swim just fine. And, in that way, I can. However, I suck at lengths. The last time I took swimming lessons was … about 20 years ago, and it seems I’ve totally forgotten how to breathe properly while doing a proper front crawl. I’m starting to figure it out — inhaling a lungful of chlorinated water will teach you REAL FAST — but I still occasionally feel like I’m flailing about moronically.
On the upside, the only people who are in the pool with us at 8am are a group of somewhat ancient asian seniors, the guy who WALKS his lengths (and only goes as far as he can walk out, then turns around and goes back), and a couple of people who look FAR too serious about swimming to be paying even a little attention to me. Oh, and the ridiculously hot girl who was in the gym with us doing things with the free weights, but she wasn’t swimming, so I won’t think about her. Much. Rawr.
*cough* Ahem.
Anyway, I feel a little ridiculous, but luckily I’m not overly worried about feeling a little ridiculous, so I’ll keep it up.
Oh, except for this: So, on Saturday, Nick was bench pressing something or another. After he’s done, he motions to me like it’s my turn. Well… no. That’s not really an exercise I have much interest in, I’d rather not. I don’t have a lot of upper body strength, and I have a fear of dropping the damn thing on my neck, spotter or not. (Likewise, I’m a little afraid of spotting for Nick, but he keeps telling me I’ll be fine, I don’t have to do much, just take a little weight off… Easy for him to say, he’s not the one who’d have to live with himself after dropping the thing on his neck. WHY? Because he’ll be DEAD and it’ll be MY FAULT. Ridiculous, me? Nah.)
Anyway, so Nick suggests that I try just bench pressing the bar without any weight on it. Surely I won’t worry about that.
…
No. No no no. I’m okay with feeling a LITTLE ridiculous, but THERE IS A LIMIT. Being in a room STUFFED FULL OF ‘ROID MONKEYS WHILE BENCH PRESSING AN EMPTY BAR is WAY beyond my limit of humiliation.
Heh, honestly, ‘roid monkeys are so into themselves they probably don’t even notice you. Besides, you have to start somewhere. I had a really, really weak upper body (like, difficulty opening doors) until I started weight training. It took a long time (since I couldn’t afford a trainer) but I built up muscle and it’s helped me ever since.
And the whole point of a trainer or workout partner is to have someone nag/scold/mock you into working out, and also having someone to be angry at when you’re suffering those last few reps of pain. It’s all good.
That’s fine — I maintain that I will work on my upper body strength in OTHER WAYS that don’t involve lifting an empty bar. EMPTY BAR. *sigh*
The assisted chin-up/dip machine is pretty cool, for example.
If it makes you feel any better, at the beginning of my training I couldn’t even lift the damn bar… with no weights. Yeah… that was hot.
J: You’re a braver woman than me. :D