I have the notion that I must do class today, but when or where is yet to be determined. After a series of truly horrendous errands that involved GOING PLACES and DOING THINGS, I am considering not doing a barre workout. My second Corona whispers to me, "Doing things is for chumps, and you are a champion."
I am inclined to listen to my beer, but then Hannah texts me and says she has a live barre class happening in twenty minutes. She is much more persuasive than my beer, probably because in the hierarchy of things that are persuasive, boobs are above beer. I go to look for my workout shorts so that I may attend barre not in jean shorts.
WHERE ARE MY SHORTS AND WHY ARE THEY ALWAYS MISSING.
This will be the title of my memoirs, because I have only one singular pair of workout shorts. This has been true for many years now, and I have done little to rectify the situation. In fact, when I realized I needed another pair of workout shorts, I just stopped working out, as to prevent having to find more. But workouts are my life now, at least for two weeks, and therefore my workout shorts have a responsibility that they are CONSTANTLY SHIRKING by always being missing.
I realize that they are not missing but merely placed safely in the drawer they should always be in. This is why I was confused, because I never put things away, and it is absurd that they would be somewhere they ought. I do not puzzle through this because I have found them and that makes me happy that at least some inanimate object is doing its job today (I'm looking at you, GPS that wouldn't take me to the right place earlier).
Dan has recently returned from the dentist and declines my invitation to assault our bodies with isometric movements. I tell him that he will miss Hannah saying funny things and also wearing a sports bra, but he is oddly unswayed by boobs, and this is the curse of marrying a level-headed man.
This is a 20 minute barre class, and that suits me fine, because I am an hour into happy hour and doing things has been a real study in continuous failure today. A few minutes in and I am thrilled that I am taking this class, because Hannah is funny and keeps saying 'squish your peach', which is such a delightful collection of words and sounds that I am giggling except my abs are dying so this is all very excellent/terrible. Then she refers to tucking your pelvis as 'moving your front magic' and I just fucking lose it, because that is the best way anyone has ever described a pelvic area.
I will be referring to vaginas as front magic from now on. This also implies the presence of back magic, and strays close to implying that either you need to cast a spell to get in or it will cast a spell on your way out, and I am good with both.
I promise Hannah that I will take videos of me working out, which is a challenge, because I am not very coordinated in my workouts, and adding a camera to this is novel.
But nevertheless, I persisted. Day 2 done. Fitness update: still not ripped like Xena.
No comments:
Post a Comment