I have a lifetime gym membership at Bally's, and I watch faithfully as our checking account is dutifully slimmed down by twenty bucks a month. That's about all the use THAT little membership is up to!
Not yet ready to commit to the gym , you know, the five minute car ride, the packing of the gym bag, changing into the perfect workout outfit....I decided to get a home bound jump start to this latest workout routine.
I begged/pleaded/demanded that the Mountain Man drag my tread mill (make that my 800 pound tread mill) from it's exile in the garage, and place (read-drag/hump/push/lug/tow)it gently into the empty half of our newly expanded living room.
I was so exhausted from watching Mountain Man do all that work getting the exercise equipment into place, that the only thing I could do that night was make the poor dear a cocktail (or three). Did I mention he hates to drink alone? Thank goodness. Every alcoholic questionnaire in THE WORLD starts with the question "Do you drink alone?"- So our marriage vows included a small verse attesting to the fact that we would never want to have to answer that question as a "Yes". (Don't ask about any other questions that may or may not determine our sobriety! It isn't polite to pry. It IS, however, perfectly proper for me to air my dirty laundry as I see fit to my ENTIRE readership-of one-but THAT'S another posting).
Anyway, day two of the treadmill in the living room went something like this...
I broke out the FANTASTIK and some rags and cleaned the filthy thing from top to bottom. (I HAVE mentioned I LOVE cleaning, no?). Well, once the machine was sparkling (sort of) I vacuumed the carpet it sat upon to catch the dirt recently misplaced from the treadmill. Then I noticed the glass tables in the FURNISHED part of the living room needed dusting. Then the couches needed wiping down. I polished the dining table and then moved on to the laundry and the dishes. By the time the house was clean, I had nothing left to give that poor treadmill.
Day three, I changed into sweats and a tee shirt. Twenty minutes searching for sneakers (try the back of the closet under the laundry basket first, next time!) and I was at least dressed for the part.
I hoped aboard old faithful, and three minutes in, I smelled something burning. Mountain Man wasn't home, so in the interest of family safety (stop, drop, and eat a buttered roll), I halted my intense albeit three minute workout.
Day four, I hop aboard my faithful steed (NOT the one in the bedroom---the one in the living room!). Six minutes in, and the rollers are not spinning the tread part of the old mill. The machine will only make its' revolutions if I push back with my feet and physically force them to move. After ten minutes, I double the calorie count due to extra work on MY part, and call it a day.
It is now Day 5, and my trusty tread mill is staring me down as I sit (oh what a familiar position THAT is!)here typing this post.
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| From Working It Out |
Are you mocking me, boy? Yep. I think you are.
I am going to get right back on it ("it" being the dreaded exercise beast of skinny jeans past!) , as soon as I finish here. If there isn't any more laundry to be done. Or dust bunnies to chase. Or Ice Cream in the freezer...
Yep, I'll be running that steed to the ground. But first things first. Is that Dust I see on old faithful? Looks like I'd better get out the Fantastik first.
Oh, hey guess what? In five days of my new exercise regiment? I gained another pound.
Did I mention Mountain Man lost two pounds just humping that bastard machine in the house in the first place?
Sigh. I think I'll drown my sorrows in a box of OREO's.
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