Taylor and I actually got out of bed this morning and went to the gym, beginning the exercise portion of the health program. Took a class called Deep Water Power Hour.
When we arrived, there were a bunch of old, large ladies in the pool. No problem, we thought. This should be a cinch. One lady I knew advised us to put on flotation devices, which we did. Then she told me I was really going to love this class. This was going to be really easy. If I didn't even have to work to stay afloat, how hard could it be? I was really there for Taylor, after all, to help her get started on an easy fitness program that she could enjoy.
A few minutes later, all the old ladies suddenly vacated the pool, and we were faced with the tattooed, dominatrix instructor who proceeded to beat us into submission. Still, I never broke a sweat, so I figured it wasn't really that hard. My heart rate went up a little, I guess, judging from the heavy breathing that my lungs were doing. That could also have been due to the chlorine fumes rising from the surface of the pool.
The trick came when I tried to get out of the pool, and almost collapsed on the ground. Also, I had a very difficult time getting the 8 oz. flotation device off my waist and lifting it into the bin (4-foot high walls). Now, as I type, my arms are jiggling around and protesting with every key stroke. I may need to take the rest of the day off and nurse my poor, jelly muscles. Perhaps a matinee of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is in order.
6 comments:
It couldn't be that you're out of shape. It's got to be a neuromuscular disorder. I'm sure the doctors will figure it out once they've done a spinal tap. I'll come with you if you want.
You can only come with me if I can come to your colonoscopy. I see that you got your parents to come and help you because you were afraid I would try to come in and watch. Very tricky!
And of course I'm not out of shape. What a preposterous idea!
Matinee at Charlie, eh? Well if you want to swing out to Springville and pick me up, my foot is acting up again. And by "acting up again," I mean that if I jump up and down really hard on it, I think it might hurt a little bit, so I probably shouldn't be at work.
I hate everyone. You're all going to matinees to see Johnny Depp, and I'm going to the DMV to see whatever surly person they chuck me at.
Sorry to hear that you're dying of a neuromuscular disorder, though!
Dying?!? Who says I'm dying? The neuromuscular disease simply means that I can sit home and watch videos and collect a Social Security check. Silly.
And no one's forcing you to go to the DMV today. You have one more week, after all. I say you ditch them and come to the movies with us and cicada.
Hey, my parents didn't tell me they were coming! What's up with that? Is everyone conspiring against me? I'm secretly trying to get out of it anyway, so it may be a non-event if they come.
Here's a funny one. My mom was trying to say the word 'colonoscopy' on the phone the other day, and she said 'colostomy' instead! WHOA BABY!
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