CJDaily's Blog

May 12, 2009

“Workout” kind of rhymes with “hurt-ouch,” and that’s all I have to say about that…

Filed under: Uncategorized — cjdaily @ 11:45 pm

About exercise:  I can’t seem to make myself do it.  I bought a 30-day workout DVD and did about 12 days of it.  Non-consecutive days, mind you.  I got it because it’s only a 20-minute workout, and quite frankly, I don’t like working out at all, so I figured the shorter amount of time the better, right?

It didn’t quite work out that way.  The instructor is a well-known TV fitness guru, known for her Nazi-like tendencies and boot-camp style attitude.  On the first day of the workout I was puking air before the first 15 minutes were over.  I couldn’t work out on the second day because I felt like I’d gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champ.  I waited until the pain faded to start a “daily” workout routine.  Like I said, I lasted about 2 weeks. 

I like to eat.  I’ve always been a skinny girl, and before having a baby I was that skinny girl who could chow down pizza at 2am, and go lay out in a bikini looking fabulous the next morning.  Now I have jiggly thighs and an impressive muffin top that belongs in an expensive bakery.  For the original devastation of my body, I blame my almost 9-pounds-at-birth child.  For my inability to lose that last ten pounds, I blame my boyfriend.  Jesse is the general manager for a high priced, French-Asian fusion restaurant that has the best food I’ve ever tasted.  As a result of working in the food industry his whole life, he refuses to eat anything but delicious, expensive, fat-roll-inducing foods.  And I am helpless to resist.

Just this weekend we went out to eat and my asparagus came with a heavenly hollandaise sauce.  I’m pretty sure I was dipping my crispy healthy veggies into the equivalent of savory lard, but I just couldn’t stop.  It tasted so good.  Ditto the steak with béarnaise sauce.  Oh and factor in the 3 glasses of wine I polished off and by the next morning I looked like I was 3 months pregnant all over again. 

What has happened to my body?  My stomach used to be my best feature!  I used to flash my abs at people like I was competing in the Miss Bodybuilding USA contest. Now I’d only reveal them to scare off a potential mugger.  And I didn’t do crunches either!  It was strictly a case of good genes, a high metabolism, and the luck of being one of those skinny girls everyone else hated.  I thought I appreciated it at the time.  Now I’d commit murder in cold blood to get my old body back, yet I don’t want to work for it!  Shoot somebody for your old six-pack?  Sure!  Work out twenty minutes a day while a butch chick in a sports bra yells at me?  No thanks.  Cut the sweets from my diet, add more veggies and limit my portions? I’ll pass. 

It doesn’t help that all my hobbies are sedentary ones.  If I could burn calories just by reading books, I’d look like Kate Moss after a high colonic.  I’ve always liked things that took little physical effort—reading, writing, shopping online.  The most athletic thing I do on a daily basis is walk to the fridge. 

Now my boyfriend, on the other hand, is built like me.  Or rather, like I was.  Although he is 30 he has an enviable six pack and whittled little waist—which, coincidentally, is smaller than mine.  He put on a pair of my jeans once for a joke and they bagged on him.  And no, they were not my “fat jeans.”  He zippered them and everything, then pulled the waistband away from his protruding hip-bones and said, “Wow, these really fit you?”  I wanted to vomit. 

Yes, Jesse is a former semi-pro snowboarder who is addicted to going snowboarding all morning, then working at the restaurant until the late hours of the night.  And then sometimes he will go out later.  During the summer he does the same routine with surfing.  He has boundless energy and thinks we are home “early” if the bars are still open.  Whereas I am falling asleep into my champagne around 10:30pm.  On Sundays, (his only day off) it is wasted if he does not “do” something.  I am happy to sit and watch movies or read a book all day, which he regards with utter scorn. 

“How can you just sit there?” he scoffs.

I regard him with disbelief.  “I work every day, take care of Annabelle every second she’s awake, and when she goes to bed, I occasionally take an hour or two to clean or get the things done I can’t do while she’s tearing the house apart.  I think the question should be, ‘How can you just sit there when you could be taking a long lovely nap?’” 

To satisfy his passion for the (ugh) outdoors, I agreed to go snowboarding a few months ago.  I wanted to be a good girlfriend and convey to him that I am interested in the things he is passionate about, and that I am not the total weenie he thinks I am.  So, one early Saturday morning found me on the blindingly bright slopes, at the top of the bunny hill with both my feet strapped to a single board and enough layers of clothing to keep me warm just in case someone suddenly shanghaied me along on an Alaskan cruise.

“Now you put weight on your toes to go left,” he advised me, (looking, I’ll admit it, really sexy in his snowboarding gear, whereas I simply looked 30 pounds heavier than usual.)  “And lean back on your heels to go right.”  Um, sure.  I actually did pretty well the first three times down to mountain, maybe only because I was moving at the pace of frozen molasses. 

The fourth time down the hill I had my first big fall.  I’m not sure how it happened but suddenly I was horizontal in the snow with a belated feeling of whiplash and a white-hot pain in my tailbone. 

“Ungfh,” I think I said, as I lay there, stunned. 

“Oh you’re fine,” Jesse slid over to me.  “That didn’t hurt.”

“It didn’t?” I asked, dazed.  “I actually think it might have.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” he admonished.  “Here, get up.”  He helped me up and we continued down the inappropriately named “bunny hill.”  First of all, I saw no bunnies, only children in peril of being mown down by the board I was at the mercy of.  Secondly, I have never seen a bunny tumble ass-over-teakettle and land in an ignominious heap, clutching their tailbone and whimpering, “Oh God, my coccyx.”

“You’re fine,” he insisted.  “Really, I’ve never seen anyone grab their butt so fast after falling.  That couldn’t have hurt.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him from my prone position in the snow.  “Listen to me you sadistic freak,” I hissed.  “I’m the one on the ground and you’d better take my word that it hurt.  Further more, you are carrying me the rest of the way down this hill and plying me with alcohol until the internal bleeding stops.”

A week later it turned out I did have a bruised tailbone and a possibly torn meniscus, (a piece of cartilage in my knee.)  I have decided that physical activity is not my friend and should anyone suggest further snowboarding or high powered workouts, I shall simply smile, shove another piece of chocolate into my mouth, and say, “I’d love to, but I have a broken ass.”


1 Comment »

  1. Haha. I can’t say I agree with your desired choice of activities, but I honestly love your writing style. It’s been a while since I’ve found a blog post that I actually enjoyed reading. Not to say that I gain pleasure from your pain, but you and your writing style make me laugh.

    Comment by Six Pack Workout — September 9, 2009 @ 7:32 pm | Reply

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