Gluteus In Incendia

Oh my god.

My buttocks are on fire.

Sunday, after waking to snow on the ground, Dallas and I were slightly panicked because we had let it hang out for the better part of two weeks. Yes, we continued to go the gym and put in some pretty serious workouts but we didn't deny ourselves food or alcohol. Sunday marked a return to discipline. It was the day we would do both a cardio AND a lower body workout just to kick things off properly.

Except our gym was closed due to weather.

I freaked. "What will we do?" I asked, "I have RESOLUTIONS to keep!"

Dallas replied that we would manage with the weights we had at home.

"But what about our cardio?" I bleated.

Dallas, with a straight face, calmly turned my way and said, "I plan to run up and down the stairs for twenty minutes."

Our stairs. In our house.

Besides the fact that me running up and down our stairs would be nothing short of a freak show, I cringed at the thought of my children watching.

And laughing.

AND FILMING.

Yes, that's right. Dylan received a hand held camcorder for Christmas this year and he'd like nothing more than to post his sweaty, crazed, mother all over YouTube. I don't know what the hell Santa was thinking giving a twelve year old boy, who thinks farts are the epitome of humour, a blackmail device.

So, I reasoned that there had to be a plan B. And gratefully, there was. Another gym was open. Whew. We took our time, had lunch and then waited an appropriate interval before heading out.

We got to the gym, walked in the door and were told that they would only remain open for another 15 minutes.

Due to the weather.

We debated for about two seconds (cardio or weights) before deciding to get in as much of our leg work out as possible. Dallas hopped onto a machine and I decided to change things up because I felt that my routine had become stagnant.

I did lunges.

With free weights.

Lots and lots of lunges.

Five miserable, sweat-inducing, grunting, jesusmaryandjoseph sets.

And one set of squats with a forty-five pound bar on my back.

Then, I got on to this great hamstring curl machine that we don't have at our gym for five sets and finished with one set of dead lifts.

Calves were last. I only managed a couple of sets before the staff guy walked by and told me he was turning out the lights. He seemed slightly annoyed so I figured that that was my not-so-subtle cue to leave.

Dallas, because he is a considerate man, had walked out the door after precisely fifteen minutes and thus, was sitting in the car patiently waiting for me when I walked out.

We both agreed that it was just a mediocre effort.

Today, I disagree. It was an excellent work out. My rear end is so tender to the touch that I can barely sit. I got a hint of how bad it would be last night when the first piercing twinges appeared. Enough so that as I was about to descend the stairs after tucking my children in for the night, I contemplated getting on my belly, sticking my hands out like Superman and flying down.

Except I couldn't bend my legs low enough to actually get on the floor.

And I was worried about my son and that damn camcorder.