So, I’m snuggled into the couch with my dog, watching whatever inane thing happens to be on TV. Normally this causes me to lose consciousness faster than a brick to the skull. Maybe it was because I was rummy from lack of sleep the night before, but I came to my senses as I was dialing the 800 number to order a Malibu pilates chair. Damn Susan Lucci and all the before and after pictures.
Even though I was on hold, I felt committed to the 30 day trial. For the last three days, I’ve been staying in my box, tucking my tush (which is a bit too bootylicious), and engaging my core. My core and I, by the way, have set a date, even though I know it’s been sneaking out with potato chips and caramel corn behind my back.
Unfaithful abs notwithstanding, I’ve committed myself to 30 days of walking, pilateing, and oatmeal (steel cut). Consult your doctor before beginning any exercise program. Phhht! I’m more concerned with finding a pair of shorts big enough so I can bend over and breathe at the same time.
It seems like pilates come in sets of ten. Ten minutes, ten reps, ten days to lose a dress size. I think they should add “count to ten before taking an axe to your pilates chair.” Swinging an axe works the biceps, triceps, and abs (if you engage your core).
In my Lamaze class (somewhere in the last millennium) they were careful to refer to labor as “discomfort” rather than “pain.” I can assure you that my arthritic knees, my abs, and my left big toe (figure that one out) are about to give birth. I’m expecting some alien to pop out as I’m panting and blowing.
My stubborn nature and desire to get my money’s worth of shipping and handling is what spurs me on to day four. When I told my husband what it would cost to keep the chair, he spouted some invectives that could peel paint off the walls. I expect that when I graduate to the full 45 minute workouts, my enthusiasm and pain tolerance will drop dramatically. I’m counting on gaining enough strength from the exercises so that by day 29 I’ll be able to hoist the sucker onto the counter at the post office without putting myself into traction.
Karla,
I agree with you– some exercises do feel like labor! This is a hilarious post! What were those words your husband used? Very intense to peel the paint off! Be careful hoisting it onto the counter at the post office; maybe you can convince the postman to lift it, and then he’ll be in traction instead of you! Take care!
If I repeated what Dave said, I’d be banned from my own blog.
Better you than me. Sucker! What’s the return period on the television offer? Forty-five days and they’ll be back in Shanghai laughing their heads off!
As they say, “Hope you lucky!”
I could wallpaper a beach house in bubble wrap from all the packing material. It’s going to take a lot of imagination to get it back in the box.
Hmmm, labour as discomfort rather then pain, hmmm? I take it that none of the people who actually said that had given birth themselves?
I was expecting the instructor to walk into the labor room and say, “Ha-ha. Gotcha!”
Whoever called it “discomfort” had to be a man!
Karla, kudos to you! You are One Tough Cookie!
Speaking of cookies?
I think I have some tasty little lemon sandwich yummies left in the cabinet. IF Joan didn’t get to them.
I gotta go…..
Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here munching on some delicious raw cauliflower.
Ewwwwwwww
Cauliflower is meant to be cooked, and covered with a rich cream sauce. Or cheese sauce! Not eaten raw!
I agree!
About 1 cup of buttermilk ranch dressing will make raw cauliflower florets go down smoothly. Otherwise, it’s like chewing on styrofoam.