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Worst Neighbors Ever

I wore real dress pants yesterday. The kind with buttons. And aren’t even stretchy.

And I managed to breath normally the whole day.

Apparently, if I just force myself to workout every damn day, I can maintain a comfortable body weight. And still eat the random crap that people offer up to me.


He’s the reason.

After acknowledging my just very apparent weight gain last weekend, my mom asked me what I’d done the night before.

Went out with GBFF.

How much beer did you have?

Why are we assuming I had beer?

Just one.

At the first bar.

And then a half pour. At the next bar.

And then another half pour…

My dad, the math genius: So you had two full beers.

My mom says that’s why I’m expanding. Beer.

But also, laziness.

Because if I just run and strength train all week long, I can counteract all the pours. And the muffins. And the donuts. And the cookies. (I don’t go buy these things. People bring them to me…)

But when you tell J-Vicious that your clothes don’t fit anymore. He takes it personally. As some sort of challenge.

And maybe I appreciate that.

But I also appreciate the ability to use my extremities.

See, the problem is, I don’t have the inclination to be viciously manipulative.

I’m just really loving and supportive and helpful.

Just an all around super sweet human.

J-V is not. J-V creates fitness classes that make me want to punch him in the throat. Or kick him in the really vulnerable connective tissue on his thigh.

I mean, I can’t. I can’t do those things. Because fitness classes.

But I want to.

Screw Your Neighbor.

Have I complained about this one yet?

I’m sure I have. But since some of you don’t read every single post I write, which I find appalling, allow me to explain how it works.

So, you form a group of three. Presumably a voluntary group of three. A voluntary group of three people that you maybe don’t hate. One person picks an exercise. Two people do that exercise until they hit 20. When one of those two finish, the third person starts their 20. Next person finishes, whoever was resting starts. And you keep doing this for 5 minutes each exercise.

Ok. So, when you’re partnered with two normal people, it’s not the worst game in the world. It can be kind of haha funny. Trying to make each other have to work harder. Have shorter rest breaks than you. But you’re still probably gonna get a decent rest in between sets.

Because you pick not evil people to partner with.

But when you’re partnered with…*sigh*…I mean, you already know, right?

You already know who I was partnered with?

Obviously. Obviously I was partnered with Skratch and J-Vicious.

Hearing that a friend is gonna show up somewhere shouldn’t feel like a threat.

But when that friend is Skratch.

And that somewhere is PlayFITStayFIT…

I knew. I knew when Skratch said he’d be in class last night. That I wasn’t gonna have just a nice, fun workout.

“We’re making you stronger!”

Maybe I don’t wanna be stronger, y’all. Maybe I just want to be average. Maybe I just want to fit into my clothes. Just maintain a reasonable weight. Maybe I no longer care about my ability to defend myself out in the world.

“What you want is irrelevant.”


I’m aware…

So fine.

I got to choose the first exercise.

I chose push ups…

I don’t know why.

I think J-Vicious had said something about not saving the worst until last. Because muscle fatigue. And I thought get them out of the way first. And then no one else could pick them again.


Get the push ups out of the way first.

So no more push ups.


Fucking incline push ups.

Pretty sure Skratch chose the incline push ups.


But ok. Now no more push ups. For real.

And J-V let me hold that hope for a few rounds.

A few rounds where I got zero rest.

No rest breaks.

Just five minutes of solid whatever bullshit someone picked.

And do you know how hard it is to pick the least bullshittiest upper body exercises when you have precious little upper body strength?

Because you think you pick one you can do easily.

Upright rows! Upright rows! I can do these!!!

Because you forgot that J-V is an evil fitness mastermind. And he knows how to time every fucking round to make sure any rest break you might stumble upon stays under two seconds. So it doesn’t even matter what you pick.

Until he picks fucking decline push ups.

Who the fuck does decline pushups??

Is that even a real thing?

It doesn’t even sound like a real thing.

But I rested.

Because I could not do them.

I’d get 5 or 6 in and just break down.

And I’d start off laughing. I think. I think I was laughing. I’m not even sure why. Maybe at the absurdity of what I know I looked like. Crumpled in a heap on the floor. One leg still kicked up on the bench. Pretending like I was still in it.

But then the laughter would break down into something akin to sobbing. Just without the tears.

Because no upper body strength.

But also. My fucking hamstrings were seizing up. Because fucking leg day the day before. Where J-V made us wall sit. For 5 minutes. At the end of class. With 80 fucking pounds in my lap.

That’s basically the size of Tiny Brazilian.

After class, I made the mistake of opening the trunk of my car to put my gym bag in.

And then just stood there. Looking up at the hatch. And then around the parking lot. The empty parking lot.

Can someone help me close this??? PLEASE????

No one.

In rom-coms, there’s always some really handsome guy that comes to the helpless girl’s rescue.

But my life is not a rom-com. There is no rom in my life. There’s just com.

So no dude came to help. Handsome or otherwise.

So I did this kind of half-hearted jump, where I flipped my hand up onto the hatch. And managed enough momentum to force it closed.

Force is probably the wrong word.

Coax. I coaxed it closed.

So here I am. Asking co-workers to carry my coffee to my office for me. And trying not to move too much. Lest I upset my rather angry muscles. Forcing me to break down into the maniacal sobbing -laughter of decline push ups.

Worst. Neighbors. Ever.

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Just reading and writing and running and looking for my happy place.


  1. martywinn says:

    “But my life is not a rom-com. There is no rom in my life. There’s just com.” Nice line. Sad, but artistic.

    1. And fully accurate.

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