I got this for Christmas:
Y’all. Scary Spice is kicking my tail. I started one of her workouts yesterday and halfway through, I quit. I didn’t say goodbye or thank you for your help, I just straight up turned off the game and
limped walked away.
Once my heart rate slowed to that of a person being chased by a rabid dog, I thought, “Dang. That girl is good.”
Today, as I got out of bed and realized that I’d be taking baby steps all day due to an inability to bend my legs, I thought, “Dang. I hate that girl.”
I know I tend to lean towards the dramatic side when I tell stories but I’m toning down the drama when I tell you that as I tried to shave my legs in the shower, I had to all but skip my calves because the pressure of a Venus Embrace was equivelent to rolling around naked on a bed of broken glass. With tiny sharp rocks sprinkled on top.
All this from half a work out. I’m a special kind of out of shape. The kind that may just be beyond hope.
J. has been doing the workouts since I got the game and after the first day, he had the same problems even though he’s in significantly better shape than I am.
First, let me say, I’m sorry I made fun of him for the fact that he got whooped by a Spice Girl. However, I’m not as sorry as I was because he now thinks himself an expert and tried to convince me that I needed to do the workout again today to loosen up those sore muscles. As if.
If I could move my leg, I’d kick him. Apparently, he missed my old lady shuffle around the house today and didn’t hear me moaning when I tried to sit down. (Or stand up.)
I will work out with you again, Mel. I find you so much more tolerable than most women on work out videos and much less frightening than Jilllian Michaels. In fact, when I was working out, I felt like we were friends. Except for the fact that I’m pretty sure friends don’t do to each other what you did to me yesterday rendering me unable to move today.