“Oh look. Beautiful Beastie wants company on her next NM Marathon.”
Good thing I don’t go on social media enough to see stuff like that.
“I’ll let her know. I’m a good friend.”
And damn if I didn’t get a BB text this afternoon. Talking about North Mountain.
And then she says she’s going to email the draft outline of our summer running plan.
Like, this bitch done made lesson plans and shit for me.
And I got a little scared.
But then Skratch sent me this little reminder.
He saves that one. In times like these. When he can use my own words against me.
And he doesn’t know this. But his damn timing was perfect.
Because I tried to go to PlayFITStayFIT last week.
I got to the parking lot. I think even stepped out of my car at one point.
So, I’ve got this really awful mix of work stress and crazy out of control hormones happening right now.
It’s the perfect storm.
I actually had to go to the bathroom five different times. In a two hour period. Friday morning. To break down in tears. Just because.
My poor principal.
I said the phrase “I don’t care” in response to just about every issue brought to me today. A few times I responded with “I can’t care.”
Both versions are true.
So, anyway. I’m standing there in the PFSF parking lot. For leg day. Last week. And I suddenly realized. I cannot be social with other humans right now.
So I left.
And here’s how I know I’m at the right gym.
First B-Major. Then J-Vicious. Start messaging. And calling. And wanting to know where, exactly, I thought I was going.
And demanding that I come back.
And generally that will work.
I’m a sucker for being told my presence is actually wanted. Because my general instinct is to assume that it’s not.
But I was in too deep on these hormones. And I didn’t want to bring them around B-Major and J-V’s perfectly pleasant clients.
If it was just the two of them. I absolutely would have. Because they know how to manage me. And my pissiness. But their clients don’t. And shouldn’t have to.
So I disobeyed direct orders. And went on home. And refused to communicate with anyone for the rest of the night.
But I also know how a really good workout fixes my brain. And sometimes even my hormones.
And I wasn’t able to get myself to yoga last night. So I went to leg day tonight.
And fuck if it wasn’t a partner workout.
And my hormone-riddled introvert legit panicked. And almost walked out.
Because I knew I would be actually awful to anyone that asked for my input on what exercises we should do.
My brain is not equipped for any further decisions for the remainder of this school year.
I can’t care.
But walking out felt like it would be bitchier than staying and just refusing to acknowledge anyone. And there was an odd number of us.
And while being forced to be J-V’s partner is never. Ever. What any of us want.
Today it was a relief. (I will deny that if anyone tells him I said that.)
Because I knew he’d make all of the decisions. And wouldn’t care that I had no interest in speaking to him.
He made all of the decisions…
And one might think. That because he’d just done the workout. With his gym husband. During the four o’clock class. Opting to do all of the hardest exercises. That he would opt for even slightly easier ones for our five o’clock class.
But y’all know him by now. Right?
Damn if this little fucker will not absolutely sacrifice himself. To make someone else miserable.
I may have spoken to him a few times…
I’ve done the math.
360 weighted lunges.
Probably 10 total minutes of weighted hamstring curl. Like. You’re just holding that shit in an extended curl position.
290 banded fire hydrants.
Got a decent reprieve when B-Major came to pick up their Mini Major. And lured J-V outside. And on her way out the door said, “relax a little, Sunshine.”
Took me several seconds of fire hydranting to realize the precious gift she’d just given me.
But then he came back in.
An eternity trying to hold a calf raise. And trying to figure out why I couldn’t maintain balance. While holding a 50lb kettle bell.
60 lbs???? The actual fuck.
A good five minutes in a stationary lunge holding a sand bag that weighed somewhere between 25-75 pounds. Because that’s what it said on the outside.
…that’s a pretty wide range. Which is it?
And he never answered me. But it was enough pounds that I couldn’t manage it. And J-V actually had to throw it onto my back for me.
And I’m gonna say somewhere around 100 weighted up downs. Because my math started breaking down. Around 50. After I just fell over to the side. On one of the ups.
It’s cool, though.
One of the chicks said my legs were gonna look so good after this.
So that’s something to look forward to.
I was gonna go to arm day tomorrow.
But I’m pretty sure my arms got enough from holding all that damn weight.
And it’s hard to say what my socials will be like tomorrow. After spending a full day sitting in a room watching children take tests that they absolutely should not have to take this year. While also trying to catch up on massive amounts of truancy.
But also. I couldn’t lift that sand bag over my damn head tonight. So clearly I need arm day.
But I swear. If it’s a partner workout. I’m walking the fuck out.
Because I can’t even care.