Handicapped.

I just got back from the gym.  I talked Ashley into going with me and she probably wants to punch me in the nose right about now.

So we drop the kids off at the daycare and walk in the front door to get our little barcodes scanned.  A big muscular trainer is standing there and asks us what we plan to do.  We of course are headed to cardio cinema where all chunky girls like to work out in the dark.  (Speaking for myself here Ash.)  He says “Aren’t you going to work out?” 

I thought going into cardio cinema meant we were going to work out.  We weren’t going to go lie on the floor and eat popcorn.

Okay fine, he thinks we need some weight training.  He’s right by the way, but when you have a race approaching you tend to focus on the cardio.

So we agree to get some free personal training from muscle man and he sends us to warm up on the treadmill for a few minutes.  I’m feeling not the least bit nervous because I think I’m pretty tough.  Fluffy?  Yes.  But tough too.  I mean, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Ashley and I just did a Ragnar.  Shoot.

So anyway after a few minutes of warming up muscle guy comes over with a 19 year old girl and says he’s passing us off to her because she’s an expert in legs or something.

The rest is kind of a blur.  There were lots of lunges, plank position, more lunges, side lunges, jumping over a step that was like 4 feet high, lunges, and then doing that sitting against the wall nonsense.  And I almost barfed.  Like those people on The Biggest Loser who throw up!  That was me!

We finish the torture training and finally get to go to our beloved cardio cinema.  Pointless by now because my legs are jello and I still think I’m going to puke.  I am such a pansy!  (Not to mention the horrible movie they were playing where people were drowning right and left.)

We hobble back to the day care and pick up our kids.  Lifting Victoria up into the car almost made me eligible for a double knee replacement.

Back at home I literally almost had to crawl up the stairs to the family room. 

I should have more pride than to blog about this, shouldn’t I.  Oh well.

I have a new-found admiration for the people who go on The Biggest Loser and do this for HOURS a day and they weigh twice what I do.  I can’t imagine how they feel at the end of the day.  No wonder they are barfing, bawling, and sweating buckets.

Can someone please bring us dinner because I’m not going to be able to move from this chair for probably at least 24 hours.  Thanks!