The Gym

I'm feeling better today. Never underestimate the benefit of sweating out one's frustrations.

Last night, it was back to the gym again for another Bodypump class. I can safely say that I HATE squats. And lunges are nothing short of torture. To make matters worse, there is this cute, pixie-like blonde in our class who has the perfect ass end and she sails through the sets without making any of the ugly faces that the rest of us slobs do. AND, she uses double the weights that I put on my own bar. Of course, she is in much better condition and has obviously been doing it longer than I have but she could hide behind a light pole if you turned her sideways. I just can't figure out how something that petite can lift all that weight. I am jealous.

I have also noted another woman. She is sixty something with perfectly styled hair and flawless make up. As far as I can tell (and I do scrutinize), she hasn't had any work done. Her forehead moves, she has lots of laugh lines and her eyebrows don't have to be plucked from above her head. She is in remarkable shape. She wore spandex infused yoga pants last night and there was nary a cellulite dimple in sight. When we did our bicep set, she piled on more weight than most of the people in the class. As I struggled through the last filthy minute of curls, adjusting my feet and arching my back, she stood there poised, firm and strong with perfect form. I was awed.

I do have to mention the men in the class. Each one of them is his own squirrely mess of dork and macho bravado. I'm not sure but I think the men are subconsciously overwhelmed by the amount of estrogen floating in the air so they compensate by switching into high school jock mode.

One guy chats up several women in the class, including the instructor. He is noisy, obtrusive and not nearly as good looking as he tells himself. His flirting is awkward and full of adolescent humour. I feel sorry for this guy. If he didn't try so hard to be funny, he might actually be charming and able to get himself laid every once in a while. He's really the only regular besides my husband. Other men come into the class, load their bars up with gobs of plates, struggle to keep their form through 55 minutes of hell, eyes bulging in effort and then walk out the door, legs shaking, never to return. Like all first timers (myself included), they always underestimate how hard it is to aerobically lift weights and use far too much. By the end of class, they are quivering from head to toe like a tub full of jello. I want to reach out to them with a tube of BenGay and some ibuprofen and tell them to be grateful that they pee standing up.

The best part about Bodypump besides the obvious physical benefit is the instructor. She's awesome. She's a real woman with real curves and an admitted appetite for American beer. She owns a preschool, teaches two fitness classes six days of the week and has a husband and children. She despises lunges as much as the rest of us do and her face screws up with the same effort reflected in all of ours. She loves junk food and admits that if she ate better, she'd be skinny. She's just oozes goodwill. I relate to this woman. She inspires me.

The truth is that I am really enjoying the regular exercise again. It doesn't feel much like work to me. I am sleeping better, my mind is sharper and the strangest side effect is that I'm not craving sweets. If I were, I'd indulge because I'm a calorie burning fool these days but I have a distinct apathy towards dessert.

Bread, on the other hand...

I Give Up

The white flag is raised. I surrender.

I have reached the absolute end of my capacity for turmoil and conflict. I am a generous person by nature and mostly reasonable but as the last vestiges of my self control slip away, I am desperate for a change in the winds.

I'm sure that there is a lot in my environment for which to be grateful but these days I can't seem to reorient my focus to what is good. Instead, my view is clouded with ex spouses, ignorant behaviour, an empty rental house, loose strings, incomplete business deals and anxiety that fills my belly with acid. Any one of these things on its own is perfectly manageable but the culmination of events has triggered an involuntary flight response.

I have always been someone who could creatively problem solve. Often, after mulling over something particularly troublesome, I have awakened in the morning with a viable answer. No such luck these days.

The cerebral self understands that most of the current turmoil is temporary and will resolve itself with time. The emotional, less rational self is thinking that a sleeping bag on a Hawaiian beach is looking pretty good right now.

No Crazies Need Apply

This morning, I woke up thinking about a conversation I had last night with the man who occupies our rental home.

He is moving out.

When he announced this, my first thought was one of blind, colon-constricting panic because even though we have a negative cash flow of nearly four hundred smackers a month on the place, the bulk of the mortgage is being paid. In this economy, finding a new tenant is not a given and having that house sit empty would seriously impact our monthly budget.

So, as I was congratulating our renter on his job promotion to Niagara Falls, I was making mental notes about our next steps and desperately trying to find the silver lining in the news. I didn't get there right away. Instead, I recalled all of the certifiably insane people that I spoke with the first time we were searching for a tenant. And I must have an aura that screams, "tell me your life story", because they do. Ad nauseam. Then, they point out the flaws in the home and try to negotiate a lower rent, which causes me to twitch like a tweaker needing a fix.

Perhaps we will get more for the home, I thought. Not likely. Maybe there are decent people out there affected by the mortgage and banking crisis who no longer qualify to buy a home but who still want to raise their kids in a good neighbourhood without breaking their bank account. We could be the answer to their prayers! It wasn't that long ago that I was a renter and I haven't forgotten how horrid the whole process can be.

We do have to face the possibility that we will have to lower the rent to get the place leased but no matter, we'll be grateful just to have someone move in an help offset the cost of the mortage.

The FOR RENT sign went up last night and today begins another chapter in the landlord tales. I'll keep you posted.

Feeling the Burn

Last night, a friend invited Dallas and me to the gym for a BODYPUMP class.

I am in hell.

My quads are screaming. My arms are dead weight. My pecs are throbbing. My buttocks are ON FIRE. I involuntarily shrieked this morning trying to lower myself onto the potty. Arranging my hair into some semblance of an acceptable coif made me cry.

It started out pleasantly enough with a warm up set that got the juices flowing but wasn't horribly demanding. In true cavalier fashion, I added a bit of weight to my bar and hunkered down for the next set, confident in my strength and abilities. About thirty seconds into the second set, I looked around the class, wild-eyed, willing the teacher to take a break. We were working on legs, doing rep after rep of squats.

Our instructor was encouraging us saying things like,"Stick your bottom out further!" and "Plant your heels on floor!"

"Die," I thought.

The third set worked chest. The fourth set was back. Fifth was shoulders. Then, we moved on to triceps and biceps. Somewhere near the end, we were told to do lunges. I looked over at Dallas and watched his eyes roll up into the back of his head. Then, we went back to squats and because I am a fart magnet, I prayed the woman in front of me hadn't had beans or broccoli for dinner.

Finally, we got to the abdominal exercises. I may have wept for joy because although the number of reps made me want to vomit, we got to lay down on the floor. This was an improvement. At the very end, we did a few minutes of stretching to cool down. Every large muscle in my body was already quivering.

I had to go up a flight of stairs to retrieve Olivia from the daycare center. Going up was magnificently painful. Coming down was agonizing. As Liv and I walked through the parking lot, we could see Dallas ahead. He was trying very hard not to bend his knees and when he stepped up onto the sidewalk, I nearly wet my pants with laughter.

I know that the pain is going to be bad tomorrow but I'll still go to class because my rear end spread like smooth peanut butter on a slice of toast during the holidays. I will say that one unexpected bonus of strenuous exercise is the boost in willpower.

Manchild's birthday was last night and as the kids were slicing into his chocolate cake, I didn't have one measly flutter of a hankering for a bite. NOT BLOODY WORTH THE CALORIES, I thought.

And that, my friends, was a first for me.

Superbowl 2009

It seems like the Superbowl is usually a blow out. Now I am sure that there have been many contests where this is not the case so please don't send me email detailing those games. I believe you.

I'm all about the whole experience. Sometimes, the game itself turns out to be the anti-climax, the opening band, or a shitty meal in a great restaurant so it's a good thing that the Superbowl has become an entertainment production. To me, Superbowl is finger food, adult beverages, half time and the commercials.

It came as a surprise last night to find myself fully engaged at 8:50 pm. The announcers called it the greatest comeback in Superbowl history. I was just really pleased to see such a close game, especially after Dallas filled me in on Kurt Warner's history. Unbelievable. The only thing better, of course, would have been to see Arizona win. The last touchdown of the game was heartbreak personified.

Actually, the whole event was pretty great. Besides the excitement of the game, Bruce Springsteen ROCKED the halftime. I know that some of his die hard fans called it a sell out and were upset with the news that he was going to play the Superbowl but just one look at him up on the stage having the time of his life should have put all of that nonsense to rest. He was clearly loving every minute of that show. Even the shtick at the end.

And the commercials were pretty funny. My top three picks: