Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Let's get physical.

I went to a new workout class this week that totally kicked my butt. It's called Sculpt but I think something along the lines of Annihilate may have been more appropriate. I am so sore. Like the kind of sore I can remember feeling after the first day of cheerleading camp. When a whole summer of sleeping late and hanging out with friends would come to a screeching halt as I was suddenly forced to spend 8 hours in the hot sun doing herkies. No? Not following that one? Well let's just say it makes you really sore, OK?

Like almost as sore as I am right now.

I feel OK if I am sitting (or even better if I am fully reclined), but once I try to stand all the muscles in my lower body simultaneously contract making me feel both very weak and very strong all at the same time. Weak because all my movements have corresponding sound effects (like oof, eee and ow-ow-owww) and I'm hobbling around like a senior citizen; strong because once the soreness goes away all the places that hurt will be that much more buff. No pain no gain, right?

Ouch.

Since I am obviously in no condition to work out (or move or whatever) I am catching up on my stacks of unread magazines while pruning out in a bathtub full of Epsom salt. This works out well because, while my entire lower half feels ripped to shreds and abused, my upper half seems to have escaped the class relatively pain free. I have no idea how this happened considering the unholy amount of reps we did of bicep curls, military presses, tricep push backs, bench presses and anything else that can be forced upon you by a relentless instructor with an arsenal of hand weights and medicine balls.

Maybe my upper body was just strong enough to handle the class? I am not by any means muscular but keep thinking back to a week or so ago when I inexplicably flexed my biceps at the dinner table and asked our guests if they had tickets to the gun show. But, no, that definitely had more to do with the wine I was drinking than the heat I was packing. Still, my weak ass legs are never going to hear the end of it from my guns.

I mean, my arms.

Anyway, as I was flipping through Shape (not my favorite magazine but perfect for reading in the bath) I saw something that made me do a double take.

No, your eyes are not deceiving you, those are definitely scrunchies they are suggesting we wear to they gym. Scrunchies! They don't even try to pretend they are anything else. Look:

It's right there in black and white. Scrunchie. Wow.

I mean, sure, I loved my color coordinated scrunchies (either in my hair or on my wrist!) as much as the next girl but in hindsight don't they seem kind of silly? I could definitely see a child getting away with that look, but a full grown woman with a big floofy floral fabric band around her pony tail seems kind of ridiculous. Then again, I do own a brand new pair of leg warmers. Maybe the scrunchie is the logical next step.

I was going to say something about a scrunchie being better
than feathered hair but then I realized that's kind of what my hair
looks like right now. Damn.

5 comments:

ae said...

Here's the thing. How old is Jane Fonda? If my body at my current age of 34 looks at hers does at her current age of 72, I'd be pretty thrilled. Then again, didn't she admit to having a pretty rampant eating disorder during the time she was a workout maven?

I only ever owned one scrunchie - it was black and white plaid. I buy cheap bandanas at WalMart for my workout hair needs. I have them for all seasons and in many colors.

Also - those sculpt classes will KILL you.

erin said...

Ok, that settles it. When Robin and I were watching Lost last night, there was something familiar in the actress's hair. We looked at each other and said, "Is that a scrunchie in her hair?!" I thought surely it was not.

They're baaaaack!

Halie said...

Gotta love the 80's....well, the music anyway.

Sip said...

Wooo! Welcome to sculpt! If you are ever available at 6:30 on a Wednsday, come join Tim, Gertie, and I at the Green Hills Y...it's crazy hard, but you feel so accomplished at the end! And our instructor is very ammusing with his tight short shorts.

Girl Healthy said...

I don't know what's worse: wearing a scrunchie or actually paying $12 for one. Yikes, that's steep! And these writers obviously do not watch Sex and the City. Everyone remembers the scrunchie episode. Big no no.