Endorphins, baby. I love ’em!
But I hate working out. I hate it a lot. In fact, I think I might loath it.
It’s not one of those passive, “Oh, yeah. Working out. I don’t like that.” kinds of things.
It sounds more like, “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please don’t make me! I don’t want to! I’m sick! *cough* *cough* I’m sure it’s the flu. I’ve got homework. I don’t have any clean socks. Please. Anything. Is that a swollen lymph node? I’ve got Black Plague. I can’t go.”
Usually, I get away with it. I look at Mary with pitiful eyes and tell her I have too much homework, but she’s got me figured out now and she’s not buying it. I’ve actually been forced into physical activity several times this semester. I think it’s going to kill me.
See, we work out a The Fit, which is the gym on campus, and it has all these machines that are absolutely terrifying.
There’s this thing called an elliptical which is, basically, the King of the Instruments of Death. You stand up on these foot things and it’s supposed to simulate walking.
Nope.
First, they put the things you stand on (I don’t even know what to call them) about 500 feet off the ground. AND THEY MOVE. You get one foot on them, and they try to slide out from under you and dump you off. It’s like riding one of those bulls at the fair. Actually, it might be more like trying to get on one. I’m not sure. I’ve never actually ridden one.
If you can get up on it, you still have to figure out how to work it. There are a million buttons on ours. And it’s not like walking. I don’t care what they say. When I walk, I go somewhere. This is like marching in place, but your feet go in circles. That makes no sense, but it’s the way it is.
Sometimes, I get in the groove of using this thing and forget that I’m supposed to be stationary. This is when I fall off because I try to walk off the front. That doesn’t work very well. Then, I have to climb back up on it and keep walking because, at this point, I’m trying to save my pride. Seriously, who falls off an elliptical?
Oh, and then there are the bikes. We use the bikes a lot. I don’t know why.
It’s like someone decided, “We’re going to put these stationary bikes in the gym, but lets make their seats the hardest, smallest, most uncomfortable seats we can possibly manage to find.” I really think they had to go searching to find such uncomfortable seat thingies.
Riding the bikes is fun, but you can’t do it for more than about 15 minutes. If you’re brave and you go past it, your bum will get numb and your chances of falling of increase drastically. I’ve seen it happen. It might have also happened to me.
And, if you ride for forever, when you finally get off the thing, you won’t be able to walk. Who knew you needed to have a functioning rear end to be able to walk? Crazy, I know.
Medicine balls, though, are amazing. Our gym is two stories and there are lots of places where it’s totally and completely possible to “accidentally” drop one of those things on someone’s head. I think we have a ten pound one, as well. At least, I know we have an eight pound one.
Thinking about that, I’m pretty sure that could kill someone. Never mind. Idea discarded. But I still want to drop one.
Doing exercises with these things, however, is not amazing. They make your arms really tired.
But, we figured out tonight, if you ever want to know what it’s like to be pregnant and carry around an eight pound baby, just stick one of those up under your shirt. Your back will hurt in no time flat. I’m never having children (lies).
Treadmills. I hate them. Whoever invented them should die. Slowly. And painfully.
For me, they only have two speeds – Kenyan Marathon Runner and Crazy Slow. Obviously, I am not a Kenyan Marathon Runner. As much as I would love to go Crazy Slow, that is excruciatingly boring.
Now, for everyone else in the world, they’re remarkably simple to manage. Looking around the room I see all the people going different speeds that are completely comfortable for them.
Me? I’m standing on the edges looking terrified as the tread whizzes by at speeds fast enough to outrun any Large Jungle Animal.
To me, this seems a bit pointless because, if I’m ever running from a Large Jungle Animal, I will not be alone and I can trip the other person and then walk away. No running required.
So, the only way I can manage a treadmill is to go all Kenyan Marathon Runner until I can’t breath any more (maybe two minutes) and then swap to Crazy Slow until my heart rate is in a more manageable range (20-30 minutes). And then, after I do this twice or so, I get angry at it and go find a medicine ball to throw at something.
So, I hate working out. But I really like eating cookies afterward without feeling guilty. Nom nom.
Stuck Inside an Endless Melody 