“I’m surprised BB is letting you go to the gym so much this week instead of resting up for whatever big adventure she has planned.”
I’m on call this weekend. Can’t adventure. I’ve got a note from my boss.
So I worked out yesterday morning. At home.
I was gonna run.
But people die in heat like this.
I was gonna go for a bike ride.
But Jeannie built her home on that bike.
So I did a double workout. Inside. Where the air is reasonable. And felt ok about life.
And I remember specifically saying that I was not going to spend date night at the gym.
But then Fall Risk was in a mood yesterday. And told me. In no uncertain terms. And in her meanest group messenger voice. Right there in front of Rogue. That I absolutely was going to the gym.
And then tried to switch up and be friendly by calling me her accountabilibuddy.
And I was too distracted trying to decipher that word to argue.
Plus, I was still whining about that whole neck/shoulder rigor mortis issue. And my morning workout didn’t quite handle it.
So, Full Body Friday at PlayFITStayFIT it was.
Twelve Days of Christmas workout.
In July.
You do one exercise, then repeat it and add on the next.
And as we’re getting started. J-Vicious starts the music…
“Bandaids don’t fix bullet holes…”
Dammit.
I turn to Fall Risk. This is your fault.
Let’s just get this over with.
First up. Slam balls. Cool. I like those.
Push ups. Meh. Ok. I don’t hate them.
In and out squats. Bring em.
Burpees. Fuck. Fine. Just five. Each round.
Triceps extensions. As long as I can use the black band.
So, then you can either run to the bridge and back. Or do dumbass manmakers.
One of us chose dumbass manmakers. Because they’re her favorite. Because she’s delusional.
The rest of us chose to run. In the heat. Beside the dumpsters. On the super questionable section of greenway. With Taylor Fucking Swift playing on repeat in our heads.
“We are never ever ever getting back together.”
Then band thrusters. And West’s Sister and LL and M-$ had already taken all of the black bands. So I picked up a red band.
Turned around and J-Vicious is shaking his head.
“Green.”
Fuck. I’m pretty sure I already proved that I can’t do these with the green bands on Wednesday.
“Those were overhead squats. These are just band thrusters.”
…I’m not sure there’s as much of a difference as you think there is.
Still shaking his head.
“Green.”
Fine.
So I took the green and the red.
Laid the red down beside me. And struggled to shove my body into the green band.
And as I was doing that. Fall Risk picks up my red band.
“Thanks.”
Dude. That was my back up. For when I can’t do this.
And as I was struggling to get through just about three really awful band thrusts with that bitch of a green band. Fall Risk knocked out all 20 of hers. With my red band.
That’s cool.
Karma.
And fucking Taylor Swift still playing.
“We were both young when I first saw you.”
Fuck’s sake.
Biceps curls next. So I went to get a barbell. And y’all know this story. Because it happens every damn time. I’m minding my own business. Choosing an appropriate weight. And J-Vicious removes that weight from my hands. And shoves a way heavier weight at me.
25 lbs.
Huh.
You know who loves 25 lbs?
So I carried that bitch right over to Fall Risk and sat it down beside her.
That’s right.
And went back for my own 20 lb weight.
You’re welcome.
I don’t remember what came after that. Because eight days was about as far as I made it through that workout.
But the end of the workout meant the end of Taylor Swift. Thank fuck.
It also meant snow cones for everyone.
And as we sat out in the 5,000 degree heat. Trying to lower our body temperatures with flavored ice. I tried to explain how and why my ultra people “just go out and run 30 miles.”
Because LL and West’s Sister has questions.
And when people have questions…I assume it’s because they’re interested.
I’ll be taking them to Day Creek for a 20 miler soon.
They want to.
I can tell.
Fall Risk doesn’t think she wants to.
But she keeps ordering me around like this and she’s gonna find her ass at mile 18 talking about “Can I please just have some pizza?”
(She gets my love of food.)
Nope. You’ve got two more miles, bitch. Let’s go.
But not this weekend.
This weekend is my rest weekend.
Fall Risk also gets me on this point.
Being on call sucks.
But it is an excellent excuse for not doing all of the ridiculous shit everyone else is doing. And being forced to rest all weekend.
It somehow relieves me of my FOMO.
So no one can make me do a damn thing this weekend.
Except my probationers. They can make me call all over the damn state. And stress. And search for them.
But no one can make me run in this heat. Or go to the gym. Or kill Jeannie to go for a bike ride.
And my shoulder/neck rigor mortis is just about gone. Probably one more really good upper body workout would finish it off.
But I’m just gonna have to deal with it for at least one more day.
Because it’s rest day. Dammit.
So I’ll be here. Just me and the animals and my books. Inside. Where the air is breathable. Loving life. And resting my body for whatever bullshit I get forced into next week.
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