I didn’t use the restroom at work at all yesterday.
Not because I didn’t need to. Or because I didn’t have time.
But because leg day.
Because I struggled with the transition between sitting and standing. Because the specific design of a toilet seat aggravates my already angry hamstrings.
So when I got to PlayFITStayFIT, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I had the longest pee in history before changing into my workout clothes.
Then I messaged my people, telling Fall Risk to hurry up (she was late) and urging GJB, OT, and Rogue to meet us at Starr Hill after for beer and tacos, as I watched the 4pm class finish up.
Which mostly involved Spartan Bear stopping every other exercise to put together his grocery list and check the sales at Fresh Market.
The last round of the workout involved weighted sit-ups with a partner.
As Spartan Bear was sitting there assembling his grocery list instead of the 100 battle ropes he was supposed to be doing, he was explaining the sit-up round to me.
Except he kept saying “you” and pointing at me as he was referencing the partner move.
“I’m sorry. You keep saying “you” like I’m going to be doing these with you. It’s not 5pm yet. This is not my class.”
And because of the way my life is and because Spartan Bear had already put it out there in the universe, Muscular White Gut made me join in. For a five minute round of weighted sit ups. Because he needed a partner.
I mean, it’s not even 5pm yet…
I assume this means I won’t have to do these at the end of the 5pm workout…
Ok. I didn’t really. Because I’m not stupid. I know how this works.
Which is why I was ok with picking up some lighter weights for the bicep curls and hammer curls.
Of course, Muscular White Gut wasn’t ok with that. And depending on his mood, he’ll either scream at you from across the gym, give you a disappointed father look, or just walk over and switch them out for you.
The disappointed father look is really the best outcome, because then you can just move up to a slightly higher weight. And he won’t stress you. Because he’s already moved on to the next person (Fall Risk) that’s trying to get away with slacking.
But it’s all gonna even out in the end, because karma.
This is why I can’t sit up on my own this morning. I have to kind of start this little back and forth wobble until I work up enough momentum to throw myself over off the side of my bed onto my hands and knees. And then I have to slowly climb up the side of my bed to a mostly standing position.
Because at the end of the 5pm class, B-Major had already run off to “work,” so again Muscular White Gut didn’t have a partner. So again, FIVE minutes of weighted sit ups.
Look, y’all. I’m a fairly strong person. Not, like, really strong. But strong enough for the things I like to do.
But my core is absolutely the weakest part of me.
Apparently I don’t do a lot of sitting up in real life.
And because he hadn’t killed my soul enough at that point, he made me help demonstrate the round again to the 6pm instructor.
So, yeah. I earned beer and tacos.
And this is what Fall Risk and I do.
On Thursdays, we plan Arm day and then the “RunAbout Run at Starr Hill.” And we always use finger quotes, because we know we’re not gonna actually run.
So there we were, with our beer and tacos. And RunAbout Allison had already given us her disappointed father look. And here comes GJB. Apparently ready to run. Until he sees that I’m already shoving the last of taco number two into my mouth and my beer is half gone.
And there it is.
You know which one.
You’ve got to stop using that one on me.
I am and always have been a full on daddy’s girl. Nothing gets me like the look of my father being totally disappointed with my choices.
I’m familiar with it.
I’ve seen it. A LOT.
Let’s do this.
I’m not sure what Fall Risk and Liz were thinking as I got up to put my last taco in my car. So I could run. But I imagine it included the word stupid. Maybe idiot. Dumbass. Things along that line.
And they weren’t wrong.
Because GJB promised we could run a “taco pace.” Just four miles. On the greenway.
Let me be clear here. A sub-9 minute mile is not a taco pace. Even on the greenway.
And this dude wanted to chat.
I’m focusing on not vomiting on any of the other people we’re passing.
Wait. Why are we passing people?
Why aren’t we slowing the hell down?
I wasn’t saying any of this.
Because I couldn’t.
But I was giving off a very strong “If I had any strength in me I’d trip you” vibe.
Of course, I didn’t. Because every single step I took, all I could think was “leg day leg day leg day.”
So GJB said we could slow it down for the last mile. Just shoot for a sub-10.
I think I can survive that.
Do you see that? The last mile was our FASTEST mile.
I’ve got some specific thoughts on this.
But I’m gonna save them for another post.
Because right now, I have to roll myself into the shower and then on to work. Where I will have my last car taco for lunch.