Then I stopped working out and instead took jobs like landscaping the grounds of an entire family apartment site (biking back and forth to said place of employment), grooming dogs (which is pretty physical work all said and done) or walking dogs (speaks for itself and when you add all the flights of stairs it becomes a fabulous work out). So the need to torture myself prior to starting the day waned and I just killed myself during the day instead. I have always found that preferable as there is usually a check involved.
Once in AZ for the summer months I had to do something. I hate hate hate lifting weights. It doesn't make me feel good at all. My brain can't even appreciate it. So I started looking for something that I could do that would pacify my head and give my body a nice tough going over. I chose pilates. I am repulsed by the idea of gyms (I won't get into it) so I tried DVD after DVD with not much success. They were either way to easy or just plain boring. There was the one where you did a little dance routine on your pilates ball. I can't help but wonder if it was a good workout but I couldn't get past how ridiculous I felt using my ass to "dance" and swing my hips on this huge rubber ball to this super corny tropical wonderland music. I don't want to pretend I suddenly found shame, I'm just saying.
Then I convinced Mr. F to get a pilates ball and work out with me. I have to give him credit. Working out on a pilates ball has to feel just as gay as riding around town on a bicycle built for two. But being the good sport he is, he agrees and we run out to get a pilates ball so he can join me in my quest for fitness. Well doesn't the one he chooses come with a DVD? Enter Lynda Leene. She's attractive and cheerful and does the type of workout that makes you feel like you are not quite struggling even though I still can't finish a couple of the sets. It's a full body work out and you're in just enough pain the next day that you know it's working, but not enough to make you want to stop. And I saw improvement in two weeks. Beat that. You can't. Add ten pound weights to the whole thing and it's unbeatable get ready for swim suit season wholesome fun. Add Mr. F who is agreeing that it's a great work out. This is coming from a guy who is in peak physical condition and uses his home gym daily regardless of how he feels. So pilates is the way to go for several logical reasons. Works for me.
I slacked for a little while and just got back into the whole fitness regime. I ache. Today I figured I would cheat on Lynda and just do a little yoga. 40 minutes later I realize yoga is just a fucking hard as pilates and the reason I thought it was easier is because I am simply working out different muscle groups. Now that I am finished I also realize I worked them just as hard as I have been working on the other "resting" ones. I know I should feel great about this. I know I should be all oooo a work out I can do when I take a breather from Lynda pleasantly kicking my ass. I am. Kind of. But it hurts damn it. I would rather just wake up for the rest of my life looking like a bomb shell without having to do anything to maintain said bombness. Although, if I am going to torture myself in the name of physical perfection, it would be super great to have someone here with me to listen to my pussy comments and whining noises while holding the warrior 3 pose and focusing on my breathing. I don't want to brag, but I am getting great at the one where your hands are at heart center and while standing on one foot, you bring your other leg up as far as you can over your back without falling over. Bring it.
I'm off to flip the compost pile and hopefully not have that one last physical exertion rip my arms off my body. Thank you yoga. Thank you Lynda. Thank you body for showing me who is boss. And it's not pastries. Pastries are boss next week when my bitchiness will reign supreme over everything regardless of how much I pound on myself.
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