One of my co-workers called me an Athletic Goddess this week.
I mean, she didn’t write a full blog post about it or anything.
But she said it right on the social medias for the world to see.
So this is how I spend my last week of summer vacation.
I was gonna take the full day Wednesday just for me.
Clean out some closets. Do some writing. Read. Read. Read. And then finalize some grading and course prep before finishing it up with a delicious dinner.
And I was gonna kick it off with Beautiful Beastie’s Punch class at Carilion Wellness.
And then probably her Body Pump class right after.
We’d joked beforehand about just making it a trifecta and taking her RPM class after both of those.
We’re so funny…
Except she wasn’t joking.
Maybe if one of my oldest friends that I rarely get to see hadn’t been there, I could have just said no.
We all know.
Let me walk you through this.
At 7:40am, I forced my reluctant self out the door and down the road to Carilion Wellness.
Where I rolled into Punch class exactly two minutes before the start.
Punch is fun.
You sweat. A lot.
And the community gloves are gross. I really need new gloves of my own that aren’t holding the sweat remains of fifty other people in them.
But it’s fun.
Boxing. And kicking. And punching.
Such a perfect stress reliever.
During class, Beautiful Beastie asks who’s staying for Body Pump. And then points at me and says, “She is!”
That’s cool. I was. I was gonna do that anyway.
So, Body Pump. Where Punch is challenging, Body Pump is hard. Body Pump works every single section of your body. With weights. And reps. And lots of dropping and stopping and holding things.
But you’re training for more Spartans. So you need the strength training.
At one point, as BB was directing us to do some ridiculous thing, I may have cried out, “But why? Why would we do that?”
This seems to have become my life’s motto recently.
Shortly after that, she asks who’s staying for RPM. And then points at me and says, “She is!”
I mean, I thought we were just joking about the whole trifecta thing. But…ok.
Where Body Pump is hard, RPM is impossible.
Except it’s not. Impossible.
It’s just a LOT of cycling. Up hills. And mountains. And Beautiful Beastie wants someone to be the lead bike. Meaning, go faster than everyone else. But, really, someone’s got to be the sweeper.
And maybe she’ll say that you can add more clicks if you want to. You’re not going to want to. And you just did Punch and Body Pump and so that’s ok.
Luckily, she wasn’t teaching anymore classes that day, so she didn’t make me stay for more torture. I mean fitness.
Once I managed to pull myself off of the bike, I limped my happy ass on out to my car.
And on my way out the door, I fully admitted to everyone around me that Beautiful Beastie is absolutely the boss of me.
Now, here’s where my day gets a bit dodgy.
The other day, B-Major wrote this whole blog post about her husband being a Greek God. Her husband is J-Vicious, in case you haven’t been paying close attention to past posts.
You can read that ridiculousness here if you want to fully understand what happens next.
I’m not sure what compelled her to do that.
But whatever her motivation, this blunder led J-Vicious to dedicate Wednesday’s PlayFITStayFIT workout to…himself.
The “Chiseled Greek God.”
And I’ll admit, I was curious. I wanted to know what the workout would be like.
I do want to be stronger and get through more obstacles at Spartan. And I know it’s the ridiculous workouts that are gonna get me there.
But I also didn’t want to reinforce bad behavior.
J-Vicious does not need that kind of promotion.
I debated back and forth on this for several hours after my morning fitness trifecta.
By 2pm, I was talking myself into a shower.
Psht. I’m grown. I make my own decisions. I don’t want to workout anymore today. I want to take a shower and a nap. I want to get my grading done and then make a delicious dinner. That’s it. I’m gonna take a shower. And wash my hair. And then no one can peer pressure me into going.
So I road into PlayFITStayFIT with K-Rob.
See, the problem was, you had to pick five exercises at a time. From a list. And do them back to back. The first for one minute. The second for two minutes…on up to the fifth one for five minutes. And then you picked five more. And so on.
And I’m not known for my memory skills.
So, all I did was ask for something to write them down on.
And I wasn’t the only one. Other people were writing them down.
But J-V seized on my weakness and said, “You’re with me, underling. I’ll tell you what to do.”
I’m sorry. Did you just call me underling?
I knew this was a mistake.
Do you know what J-V’s favorite thing to make people do is?
An unreasonably timed wall squat holding a damn punching bag.
Only five minutes this time. And he let me use the “light one.”
After 9 minutes of pop squats and hamstring curls and weighted lunges and weighted calf raises…
And freakin Aquaman wasn’t helping with all of his tattling when I stopped or suggesting things when J-V was distracted.
And across the gym, Fall Risk is just giving me her Fall Risk face.
And then she points to the barbell she’s been using when I’m ordered to do deadlifts. And it feels like 500lbs. Aquaman sees me trying to figure out how much weight is on there and he says it’s only 55.
And then J-V points to another barbell for the back squats he’s screaming at me to do. I swear it said “700lb” on it. And I swear it felt every bit of that.
So sure. Why not just force that monstrosity back onto my shoulders for the dumbass Sally squats at the end.
When the stupidest song in the world finally finished playing, I just kind of stood there. With 700lbs on my shoulders. Asking someone to come help me take it off.
No one came.
So in my last final move of strength, I lifted it off of my shoulders and threw it to the ground.
I was done.
No strength left.
Full muscle failure.
And B-Major had the nerve to roll up in the middle of all this like she didn’t set this world of ridiculousness in motion.
It’s cool, though. I promoted myself to a damn Athletic Goddess.
Underling my ass.
I did 10,000,000,000 squats yesterday. Call me a freaking underling.
All I could think about as K-Rob was driving me back to my car was the amazing shrimp pasta I was going to make for dinner.
And she got me to my car in good time.
Only 18 minutes to food.
I was almost feeling hopeful.
Just one mile from the turn onto the road to my house.
I sat there. Less than 10 miles from my home. My food. My second shower. For fifteen minutes. As my body consumed itself. And every single muscle I own began to cramp up.
I damn near abandoned my car right there and ran the rest of the way home.
Except the cramping in my legs was definitely not gonna allow that to happen.
Imma need y’all to stop trying to text and drive. You can’t do both together without screwing up my life in some way eventually.
Ya girl got to get to her meals expeditiously.
She’s a damn Athletic Goddess.
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