Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Sore Loser

That's me.

So I'm trying to get in shape, mostly so that I can beat up Taylor Momsen should I ever run into her. I don't know what it is about that girl's face that just makes me want to punch it...probably all the hookeresque eye makeup.

I've been eating healthier for the past couple of weeks, and it's been going really well so far...but yesterday I decided it was time to take this relationship to the next level and start working out.

My personal trainer, a.k.a. Gary "Hasn't-Worked-Out-In-Years-And-Somehow-Still-Looks-Like-A-Hoss" Gray, was a little worried about the shoulder issue I developed earlier this year, so he lovingly suggested I do the weight lifting routine without any weights.

I laughed.

He didn't.

"So, let me get this straight...weight lifting...minus the weights...equals..."

He must think I'm the biggest weenie ever made.

Maybe that's my fault. Maybe I should have made less of a production of my lower back pain the one time he asked me to pick Brutus up some dog food. (But that bag is like forty pounds, okay? And awkwardly shaped. And I'm short. And no, I don't know what being short has to do with not being able to lift forty pounds.)

UPDATE: I've just been informed that the bag only weighs thirty pounds. Whatev.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so dramatic in my efforts to move our couch that one time. I pushed and pushed, but my tractionless, socked feet just kept sliding across the carpet until I ended up flat on my face/stomach, utterly defeated and completely unable to move. Any more furniture.

Maybe I should have been a little more conservative with the whole "you're such a big strong man" card...but you know what, no. I can't bring myself to regret that. Thanks to my flagrant overuse of that card, I haven't lifted a heavy object in almost eight years. And to all you judgers out there who think I'm disgracing the name of woman: the next time you need a big manly man to bring over his big manly biceps and his big manly truck to move your couch/fix your faucet/mow your lawn...don't call my husband. He'll be busy doing my dirty work while I paint my toenails and think about babies.*

So anyway, last night I was forced to face the fact that I had made my proverbial bed, and it was time for a really embarrassing nap.

I did the weight lifting my-own-arm-lifting routine just like Gary said, and about halfway through I realized it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be...in fact, could it be? Was I actually breaking a sweat?

This morning, all my suspicions were confirmed. My entire upper body is sore, which can only mean one thing...

My name is Emily Gray, and I am the biggest weenie ever made.

*Please, please, pleasepleaseplease don't take me seriously.** I'm not actually helpless...I just don't mind not lifting heavy objects.

**Ohhh, double asterisk within the asterisked footnote! It's crazy down here! Okay, now what was I going to say...oh yes. I was going to say in fact, it might be best not to take me seriously ever.

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