Failure to Fitness

OK, OK, OK, I really want to do this. I want to get healthy, I want to be fit....and I have come a long way, but NOW I have to put forth effort that is, quite frankly, making me wonder WHY I want those things.......I mean, I feel great, I get sick very seldom, I'm eating better (well, I have good days and bad)...and I can still walk around without assistance. I have good genes! Grandparents living into their mid to late 80's and parents in their 80s now! I can cover up most of the body flaws with the right types of clothes, and I will never be asked to grace the front of a fashion magazine.......So WHY do the words "Toning, Strengthening, and Cardio" fall off my tongue to the fitness trainer like butter off a hot knife?

I went for my fitness evaluation. Cardio, flexibility, strength, weight, BMI, the whole thing. He (that would be the trainer, we'll call him EB for privacy sake, E standing for 'evil') didn't give me a score, but, he said there was no pass or fail........How can NOT being able to do ONE push up NOT be failure??? I was, however, able to do quite a few crunches....(that was the sound of my body, not the actual sit-up thing.) They told me to come back a week later for my program......Why so long? Do they sit around a conference table and decide how they will inflict pain in the most efficient way? So I came back this past Friday. Really, don't you think I would have known better than to go for something like that on a day OTHER than Friday the 13th.......?

So I walk into the fitness center, which, let me just digress here a bit, is subsidized by my employer...we are encouraged to utilize it and make our lives healthier...the food they serve in the cafeteria has all gone "light" and for a while there was no chocolate in the vending machines......that had to have been a man's idea.....I think that practice ended when women looking for chocolate began roaming in packs.......

To EB I say: "You're not going to hurt me are you?" Now, I meant that as a joke, you know, just kidding around, icebreaker thing.............but, he HESITATED...oh, it was only a fraction of a second, but it was there. Then he said, "Well, you may be a little sore tomorrow." I should have bolted for the door that moment. Instead, I fought back tears as I changed into my new workout clothes. New clothes that just may have been a little more spandexy than I anticipated; however it does kind of hold everything in place. All I can say is, if you can't handle the spandex, get out of the fitness center....

So with a smile (did I detect a hint of cruel pleasure in his eyes?) EB asked me what my goals were. I wanted to say, "I would like to wake up tomorrow morning looking like Beyonce." but I thought that may sound a little crazy coming from a 56 year old white woman..... AND I wasn't sure if he would get it.....I mean after all, he HESITATED on that last attempt at humor. So, I kept it straight and told him that I would like to tone, strengthen, and improve my cardio function.

Next question: "Would you like an ENTIRE body workout? (Now I know there was some kind of devil's gleam in his eye!) Me: "Yes, I would like that!" Positive AND enthusiastic, I don't know, I think there was some kind of mojo going on here that comes on when there is the smell of spandex in the air, or maybe mine was so tight, the circulation to my brain had slowed.

So you know what, you have to warm up, and you warm up on your choice of cardio equipment. I made the mistake of letting EB choose my equipment. Would it be a treadmill or a bike? Oooooohhhhhh nnnnnoooo HE thinks I should do some time on an elliptical machine; was he concerned for low impact, or just plain evil? Did I not go through these same motions in the spinning class? The difference here is that I can monitor my heart rate on the equipment. EB tells me that if my heart rate gets over 165, to slow it down, and to come get him after I am warmed up. Well, 4 minutes in, my heart rate is 170 and my legs feel like jelly....... 4 minutes, folks, 4 minutes.....and I was going for 5. Isn't that just pitiful?? My regular warm up should be 20 minutes before doing the strength training.....Nothing like feeling defeated before I even begin.

The worst part, though, is I see EB sitting behind the desk 50 feet away. How am I going to walk over there?? How am I going to do anything else?? Do I fake a heart attack?? Would that be less embarrassing than crawling from the elliptical to the desk?? Seriously, my legs were buckling...it took everything I had to not fall when I was stepping off the stupid thing....... So, sucking it up, I put one foot in front of the other and begin the walk......with every other step I faltered, reaching down to grab the nearest piece of equipment hoping people wouldn't notice the old lady....in spandex....walking like a drunk......

Oh, but the best was yet to come. EB now would attach me to one piece of equipment after another starting with the press.......did he NOT know that my legs and thighs were pleading for mercy? The press.......at 60 pounds. Just to get ON the thing I had to bend my legs to my chest until I could rest my chin on my knees; how is that ever a graceful move?? "You should do 20 reps." After about 12, he reached over and pushed down on the weights with all his might as I pressed forward with my legs. "Why are you doing that?" I ask. "Well, you are stronger than I thought you were, we need to up the weight." I wondered very quickly if he would buy the fact that it was an accident if my foot came flying off that press and straight into his teeth.

And so it was, lower body, upper body, lower body, upper body, each piece of equipment born and conceived (in the minds of evil people) for working a different set of muscles. Muscles that have done nothing over the years but support and be cushioned by the various growing areas of fat that surround them.

Every new piece of equipment tormented me until I said, "I can't do any more!" This seemed to bring much pleasure to EB, for without fail, he would always come back with "You can do one more." after I would do one more he would say, "You can do one more." Never satisfied until I really could not do one more.

That is the secret, you see...I see all of you out there that know what I mean, nodding your head and getting that grin on your face. Muscle failure.....The conventional wisdom on strength training. You must work that muscle group to failure to attain success. Irony at its best, I would say. In other words, repeat that movement on that equipment until your body says, "UNCLE!" and will no longer respond to the will of the mind. How fun is that? So, I need to go from piece to piece working each muscle group until it is flaccid so that when I get up it looks like I need a wheelchair? My legs were still giving me intermittent moments of not knowing if they would support me or not.

By the way, where did that expression come from? "Uncle" Why do we cry "Uncle"? Sounds kind of creepy....I can think of a couple of creepy uncles I had.....

So, as I leave the Chamber of Horrors, EB says to me "Don't curse me out tomorrow." I am still trying to walk upright as I leave and am wondering when all those endorphins everyone always rhapsodizes over might be kicking in, and I think to myself, "Tomorrow? I want to call you every name in the book right now!" I fear tomorrow.....

I am convinced that Rodin was not inspired by Dante's "The Inferno" to create "The Gates of Hell", but, rather, saw a vision of the future and those subjected to personal trainers......

I was told that it takes 24 to 48 hours for muscles to recover, so I shouldn't do strength training but every other day. Well, it's been 3 days and my armpits still hurt. Who knew your armpits could hurt? My left thigh is still so sore that I am convinced that I ripped something. And I am supposed to do it all over again so I will be sore for ANOTHER 24-48 hours? That means I will be sore 4 days out of 7. Don't even try to convince me that it will get better, I don't believe it.

Now I remember why every piece of fitness equipment I have ever enthusiastically purchased at 3 in the morning on those infomercials ends up as another place to hang my spandex......