Leg Day Tattoo

I just asked a stranger to go to the store for me.

I sat in my car. In the Dollar General parking lot. Rolled down my window. And asked the dude walking past me to go into the store for me.

Because this.

That is the imprint of a 55 pound weight.

Because when you’re obnoxious about your birth month, J-Vicious gets obnoxious about the workouts.

I tried to claim K-Rob-D. Because it was a partner workout. And I haven’t seen her in weeks. And also because she says things like, “Aw baby girl.” When J-Vicious makes me cry. And there’s something really comforting about that.

But J-Vicious has control issues, so he made me partner with West’s Sister.

Which isn’t a bad thing. Except that she’s a badass, so that means heavier weights.

Now, K-Rob is a badass, too. But I think he thinks she would go easy on me. Apparently he didn’t read about the time she screamed at me to finish ahead of her in a race on the Saturday My Weekend Fell Apart.

This was gonna be a hard workout either way.

I knew that.

So, it basically involved a lot of sitting. While your partner did various leg exercises. Squats. Lunges. Box Step Ups. All weighted.

And then just sitting. Against a wall. Holding weight.

While your partner hopefully moves expeditiously through their sets.

Not a bad time.

Except West’s Sister is strong.

This is an issue.

Now, J-V wanted us to use the punching bag as our wall sit weight. Because he likes when I cry.

But it takes me a good ten minutes to maneuver that thing up onto my lap without assistance. And it takes West’s Sister way less time than that to do 50 back squats. And J-V didn’t want to have to babysit us the whole time.

So he gave us a 40 lb dumbbell to use.



I mean. It wasn’t an 80 lb punching bag, right?

Except 40 lbs quickly starts to feel like 80 after a few rounds of this.

So maybe when we moved to the box step ups, we forgot to take the 40 lb dumbbell with us.

And maybe there was a 30 lb ball sitting there for us to use.

“Try it and hopefully he won’t notice.”

Seriously. She’s been coming here longer than I have. He’s a freakin elementary PE teacher. He notices every-damn-thing.

But also I was gonna try anyway.

Because survival instincts.

“How heavy is that ball?”


See. Sometimes I say words before I fully process what they’re going to be.

If I’d gone with forty, we might’ve been ok…

“I don’t have a 50 lb ball in this gym.”


“I brought this one with me?”

I’m also a really bad liar.

He picked up some monstrous dumbbell and carried it over. And maybe some PTSD kicked in. Or just my fear instincts. I don’t know. But I wasn’t letting that ball go without a fight.

But J-V is admittedly stronger than me. And also more determined. So fine. Take the damn ball.

Do you know what multiple rounds of weighted step ups feel like after weighted wall sits?

It’s not good.

I just had repeated fantasies of missing the step and supermanning across the box. And my stomach catching on the corner and ripping open. And my arms snapping in opposite directions as I tried to catch myself.

Not the kind of fantasy I like running through my head.

Plus my insurance hasn’t kicked in yet.

So when we moved back over to do our sumo squat rounds, we left the 50 behind. And returned willingly to our 40.

“What are you doing?”

“No. This is the one you gave us. We’ve learned our lesson. We like this one now. We’ll never leave him again. We love him.”


No. You don’t want J-V to just accept this type of argument. Because that means things are about to get bad.

So so bad.

Because he dropped another 20 lb dumbbell on my lap.


Still not as bad as the punching bag.

I don’t know if he read my mind. Or if I actually said something snarky. Or if he just didn’t like that he hadn’t made me produce actual tears yet.

But on the next round, he dropped two 20’s on top of the 40.

I don’t do a lot of math, but pretty sure that was 80 lbs I was holding there.

Do you know how long it takes someone to do 50 weighted lunges at the end of a leg day workout?


West’s Sister just kept apologizing. Like this was all her fault. And like she wasn’t being targeted in the exact same way.

Because she’s nice. And felt bad about all of my whining.

And also I don’t ever want to be partnered with her again.

But the nail in the coffin. The part that caused me to beg a stranger to take my money and shop for me, or at least carry me through the store on his back (I know), was the last birthday round.

I knew it was coming because as I was sitting holding 80 lbs on my lap, J-V was counting people and doing math and saying, “I know the perfect closing exercise.”

He gets excited about torture. His eyes light up like a little kid who just got the Millennium Falcon for her birthday. (Best gift ever.)

On the bright side, only 8 people showed up for class tonight. Versus the 15 that were there for Monday’s burpee fest. In addition to J-V.

So I only had to do 9 sets of 15 pop squats and “box jumps.”

Finger quotes are necessary.

I was not jumping up on any box at that point.

I was barely stepping onto it.

Photo was curtesy of K-Rob who was standing there saying, “Aw, baby girl.”

It didn’t help.

“And that’s why I need you to please go get my groceries for me, sir.”

“I could just help you out of your car…”

*SIGH* “Fine.”

I half-heatedly tried to convince the stranger to go to arm day with me the next night. Because misery loves company. Even stranger company.

“It doesn’t sound fun. But you look good.”

I’m pretty sure I look like a severely arthritic 90 year old woman whose lost her walker right now. But thanks…

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