Farewell to Arms


Nine o’clock last night.  I went to Wal-Mart.  I purchased “Zone bars.”  By the way, the mint chocolate ones aren’t bad.  I bought “workout” capris and two shirts.  Oh, and a water bottle.  No matter what happened today, I’d be fed, watered, and cute.  Kind of like a dog after a visit to the groomer.

Twenty pounds…  back and to front.  Back and to front.  Twelve times.  Back… and they hang there, refusing to move.  The trainer guides my hands together in front– three more times.  Voila.  Done, right?  Nooooo… he goes down to fifteen pounds.  A minute later, I’m told to do fifteen more repetitions.  Ten, eleven, twelve, nothing.  Seriously.  Nothing.  They won’t go again.  Sooooo, back we go again, he helps me pull them forward and get ‘er done.  Five pounds down again.  Another minute to rest.  I made it to ten.  The last five took help again.  My introduction to “incline press.” Oy.

Vertical press.  Pec/Chest Fly (whatever those mean).  And… lather.  rinse.  repeat.  My arms are screaming at me at this point.

I go to the “Tricep Exctensions”  For the first time, I had zero trouble.  Zero.  The next one, however, I never could pull off.  No pun intended.  Oh, heck, who am I fooling?  All kinds of puns intended.  It’s a rope.  You lean against the padding and pull this rope thing down and out.  I could get it down, but not out.  Could not do it.  Could. Not.  So, my personal torturer told me how to use the weights to do it.  I did five and then once again, my arm simply would not go up.  Not up.  Nope, refused to move.  I’ve never felt anything like that in my life!  Usually, I try to lift something and then I can’t.  I’ve never done something repeatedly and then bam… my body refused.  I’ve had it hurt to do it– feel the burn.  However, I’ve never tried and simply had the muscles go limp like an out of control child in a grocery store aisle.

Finally, I am done.  I have no arm strength left, but um, I’m done.

HA!  The torturer laughs.  He introduces me to the “rat race” of gyms.  The treadmill. Now, the last time I was on a treadmill was for legalized medicinal torture.  This is legalized personal torture and while not as horrible as the medicinal variety, I do think it is a poor man’s version.  I would be the poor man.

He pops the incline up to a “2” (whatever that means) and the mph to 3.2.  Off I go.  Five to ten minutes into the thing, I start feeling a little dizzy.  He bumps it down to flat and 2.  After catching my breath and controlling my breathing again, I bumped it to 1.5 incline and 2.6.

In 45 minutes on this thing, I burned 132 calories.  Oh joy.  Do you know how many calories one must burn to lose a pound?  OY.

Take note, young mothers, LOSE THAT WEIGHT after each baby.  Just do it.  PLEASE.

I already miss my arms.  I hope I find them again.

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One thought on “Farewell to Arms

  1. Chautona, thanks for the smiles. I’ve been away from the gym for the past month. I hate it—the gym, not being away. Probably because, like a madwoman, I leave the house at 5:40 am. After I’ve done a bunch of kitchen chores. I’m too worn out after teaching school to go, so I must wear myself out before school instead.

    I will think of you when I’m on the elliptical machine. And I quite agree. It’s a cosmic joke to work so hard and yet burn so few calories. As you say, OY.

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