Holy Lunges!

A conversation with my fat

Me: So listen, we need to talk.

Fat: Is something wrong?

Me: Its just... Well, It’s not working out.

Fat: But- but, we've been together for so long!

Me: There's someone else.

Muscle: Hey there, baby.

Well, I've gone and done it now. I joined a gym. My local community fitness center. It's close, affordable and gives me little reason not to use it. (You can't beat $25/month!)

And then I went and did worse. I hired a personal trainer. Holy Smokes! Sundresses, sleeveless shirts, sundresses, sleeveless shirts, sundresses, sleeveless shirts. That was my “breath in - breath out” as my very first training session got worse and worse  harder and harder. Each little thing Otto (yep, get this: I have a German Argentinian 20-something personal trainer with an accent... If picturing me in a sundress doesn't keep me motivated, perhaps someone else can!) ... Ok where was I?  Each little task Otto gave me to do started out super easy, then progressively, as my muscles tired, got more painful.

Then came those damn lunges. Really. Thank God I left my pride, what little I have left, at the door. They seemed simple enough.

Until I tried my first one.

Damn! I bent down, just like Otto said. My first leg forward. Back straight. Second leg bent, 90 degrees. Fair enough.


There was no time for humiliation. No time to worry about how I looked. I had to find a way back up, but instead, I just lunged there on the weight room floor. My body was stuck, frozen, trying to find a way back up. I prayed I would not pee in my pants as I pushed as hard as I could to lift my 150lb + body up to a standing position without using my arm strength.

“Vorking out vill get easier. You see. Just vait. You not gonna ba-leefe it. You vill sank me lay-dar.”

Those damn lunges ruined my whole workout. My whole day for that matter. Once I got back up Otto made me do 5 more. Six per leg. I thought I would die. My body started shaking. Then Otto trots across the room. “Vallo meee!” he says and gleefully skips into the next room. I began to follow him but now my legs are like spaghetti. I can no longer support my torso. “Vait Up!” I shout. I tried to run, but the floor began to melt, and I realized that I vould be lucky if I could just make it to the door.

I made it thru my vorkout, but not without praying that I would not collapse in exhaustion in front of the few others who also were working with trainers this morning (having fun and laughing... but I am not comparing. They have nice trainers.). When Otto finally relieved me of the lower body vorkout, I rejoiced as we moved into the next room where we could vocus on my upper body. Never have I been so happy to see free weights and bars and machines that let you sit down. Only we weren't even going near a machine where I could sit (and relieve my quadriceps). NO, we were going to continue to vorkout standing up. I didn't care. I was just glad my legs would have a break.

The rest of the day I cursed praised Otto's name. I stopped home before I embarked on a field trip with my son's kindergarten class. I needed to chow down a light lunch (oh how I craved freshly juiced apples, kiwi, beets, ginger and lime!). I made it into my home with only a few moans and groans. (Otto said tomorrow and even worse, in two days I would be hurting like hell.) But I have a little stoop in our front yard. Up was no problem. Down? I had to hold on to the hand rail and take it One. Step. At. A. Time. My 85-year old father could hop down steps faster.

My Lordie!

The field trip was great, but we climbed about 30 steps to get to the theatre. Leaving the theatre, only 4 short hours after I worked out, I feared I would noodle it up and roll down the stairs in front of 60 of my son's classmates. Again, I just prayed I would not pee in my pants when I fell. (Aging is not fun, especially after having a baby!)

I'm home now. Not much use for anything. I napped like a baby this afternoon. Now I'm off to spend a few bucks on cute vorkout clothes. That will be my Friday night.

Sundresses, sleeveless shirts, sundresses, sleeveless shirts, sundresses, sleeveless shirts.


  1. I am laughing at the terminology - 'vorkout'! (It sounds even more difficult when one says it with an accent.) When he says "Vollow Mee", do you say, "Jawohl, Herr Commandant!" ?

    I hope it is easier each time, and that you don't hurt yourself.

  2. Oh my word. I haven't read the blog in a while and this was the first post. I about DIED laughing, Andrea! You are hilarious, and I can totally relate. Hahah! Thanks for sharing, hope it gets easier!


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