Shock and Owww

I’m pooped. Tuckered out. Knackered (as the British would say … but I’m trying to get it to catch on here as well). In other words – Beat.

But, most of all, I’m sore.

The mere strength required to accurately peck at these wretched keys right now is taking the rest of the energy right out of me. So I’ll try to keep this one brief. But, come now, we both know I’m lying – I’ve never been brief a day in my life.

Now, it’s true, I always live a pretty hectic life. Not chasing after 6 kids in addition to working full-time at the rock quarry lifting boulders all day exhausting perhaps, but relatively action-packed for a childless desk worker anyway. But it’s not my normal, fairly active, lifestyle that’s got me so zonked (another word we really should work into conversation more often). No, what’s left me looking like a lifeless rag doll (much like the time I drugged my fiancé, GAR) is my new fitness routine. I’ve already explained that, despite running 40 miles, jumping over fire, slithering under barbed wire, scaling cargo nets, clamoring over top of cars Vin Diesel style, and completing numerous athletic feats a mere 4 months ago, I am not such a fit individual as it may seem like I should be in theory. But, as of late anyway, I’m trying to rectify that.

I suppose it’s a normal thing for a bride-to-be to spend a little more time and effort on getting into shape prior to her wedding, but I actually have a more immediate plan for all this effort – I’m going to Vegas in less than 2 weeks for a girl’s weekend. Now, yes, you are right in thinking that I want to look good for this trip. Of course I do. But my main concern is more financial than physical. Or, to be more accurate, I can’t afford not to be fit for this trip. You see, all my cute clothing was purchased 5-10 pounds ago and I neither have the time nor the money to go hunting for new party clothes that fit my current waistline. Mostly it’s the money. I don’t get all dolled up that often and so buying a whole new wardrobe of party clothes when I’m already on a tight “saving for the wedding and honeymoon” budget just isn’t an option. So I have to fit into the gently used ones I’ve already got laying around, waiting to be worn and loved.

But I clearly left the whole healthy living thing to the very last minute. Not even the prospect of running into Justin Timberlake could motivate me. I have been eating right (mostly) but now I’m having to make up for lost time in the gym. I did try … I met with a personal trainer from Belarus but I don’t think he got it. When I told him I wanted to be toned but not have big, Xena Warrior Princess style muscles he said “I do not know what this means.” Even after explaining, he said “No, I mean, I do not understand why you would not want big muscles. Must have big muscles.” Okay, but I’d rather have a neck … and veins that stay properly underneath my skin without popping out to the surface … and the ability for people to clearly identify me as a woman, even from far distances. And so he didn’t get the job of training me. I left that task to myself. And apparently I’m really bad at this. My workout routine has previously just consisted of running. Long distance running, but still – it’s not getting the job done. My muscles have adapted, conformed, hit a plateau – more accurately, they have muscle memory. Like a 64-year-old man who’s a week away from retirement, my muscles are just going through the motions. They stopped working for me and have reached their resting pace. So I figure the solution is to challenge them. To knock them out of their ho-hum routine and turn them into fighters. I want to transform that muscle memory into muscle confusion.

And so I’ve been working hard to confuse the crap out of them. Cycling, yoga, weightlifting, Latin dance, running, circuit training, martial arts (see I don’t need big Russian muscles to be tough – I just need to learn a good roundhouse kick), swimming – you name it. My muscles have been given a massive jump start out of hibernation, and they are confused. How do I know? Because I can barely walk. They are so kerfuffled (please, if you pick just one underutilized word to bring back into fashion, let it be this one) they can barely keep my legs walking. And forget the stairs (though I take them anyway – it’s all part of the massive mind game I’m playing on my thighs). But no matter how wiped out … no matter how much I ache … I will continue my shock and owww war tactics on my body with the hope that someday (preferably prior to Memorial Day Weekend) I’ll be shocked and awed by how well my clothing fits. And, if not, bring on those oversized Vegas buffets!