I'm an Athlete .... sort of....

    There is a type of reasoning that goes something like this: Only dogs are blue, that animal is blue, therefore it must be a dog. If you apply that reasoning to my recent life: Athletes get athlete's toe rot, I have toe rot, therefore I must be an athlete. I'm pretty sure there's a fault in that reasoning somewhere - or I've become an athlete strictly from aquiring toe rot.

     SPOILER ALERT! The rest of this post will consist of whining and expletives - so if that's not your thing - STOP NOW! My feelings won't be hurt.

     I've been out of my workout routine since returning from vacation. Due to family needs I've not been getting to the gym in the morning and trying to work out in the evenings has proven disastrous. I am unable to move my couch potato arse off the couch after 6 pm and have therefore been very, very inconsistent with my workouts. Things have changed though and I'm ready to hit the early pavement again!

     Monday's early morning workout was sabotaged when I got called in to work at 2 am and didn't finish until 5 am. Even though that's normally the time I get up to work out, I found myself at the hospital without workout gear (and, might I add, quite tired) and again proved the adage, "Failing to plan is planning to fail"!

     Tuesday I "leaped" out of bed at 5 am (OK, I actually rolled off the edge of the bed) and tried to get my arse out the door to the gym. Here is where my whining starts in earnest...

     First, I couldn't find my cold weather riding gloves (Expletive #1). I was pretty sure my kid wore them yesterday and probably had them hidden away in his backpack (with his non-existent homework) in his room. As I was already arrayed in full on cold weather riding hear and starting to sweat, I didn't go up to his room to get them. Instead I rode in (very religious aka holey) summer gloves with the heated hand grips on high. I rode down the highway changing the hand on the handle bar every 6 seconds, trying to keep my digits warm. Failed.
     I just got a new workout plan from Joan and Breanne that calls for me to increase my aerobic "other" workout from 30 to 45-60 minutes. NOW, I actually learned a lesson from the stair climbing incident and since 1. this is my first day in a while and 2. I'm supposed to up my time, I actually picked the lower number and aimed for a 45 minute workout. Forty five minutes is perfect to watch a TV show episode on my IPAD. I got half way across the parking lot and realized I didn't have any earbuds in my gym bag (Expletive #2). I trudged back across the parking lot and retrieved them from my work bag.
     I got up to the gym, got all my outside gear (scary motorbike stuff) off and realized my IPAD was still in my bike luggage (Expletive #3). BUT, I had an IPOD in my jacket and resigned myself to listening to music and watching the food channel.
     So, I pulled my gym clothes out of my bag, dug through the extra shirts, socks and underwear before finding I had the wrong bra with me (Expletive #4). Now that doesn't mean much to my guy reader (Hi Steve!) but you girls know what I mean. If not properly restrained the girls start going off in different directions and it quickly gets very, very UGLY!
     Then I pull on the only pair of work out pants I had and discover a gigantic split seam in the left inner thigh (Expletive #5). I had no choice but to put them on - there's no way I'm gonna work out in my jeans. Ever opened up a can of Pillsbury Dough Boy biscuits? As soon as you crack the paper a load of white, puffy, doughy stuff explodes out of the edges of the can - there's no way you could ever get it stuffed back in there. That's exactly what my thigh looked like exploding out the inseam of my yoga pants. Now let me tell you, as much as I wish it could be true, repeated friction on extruded fat does not make it smaller. It does make it very sore and chaffed. In fact, it chaffes so bad you have to walk around the rest of the day like Steve Urkel with your pants pulled up to your neck just to ensure there is absolutely no chance of flesh rubbing on other flesh. It helps if you also walk like you've just spent a week on horseback.

     I FINALLY started my workout only to realize that reminding myself 4 separate times to take my beeper to the elliptical with me, is apparently not enough (Expletive #6).
     Seriously? Is the universe trying to tell me something?
Kwa heri (Bye)!