A Functional Adult Goes Running: A Second Time?

Amount of time spent generating really kickass playlist to inspire exercise times and uploading said playlist onto severely antiquated iPod shuffle:  28 minutes

Amount of time spend running / walking:  22 minutes, or, in other measurements, eternity.

After the 22 minutes I absolutely had to stop because I had to get inside and make Husband some chicken for dinner.  And by "to get inside and make Husband some chicken for dinner," I mean "a simultaneous side cramp and asthma attack, as well as ear coldness event, which meant I would have collapsed if I tried to go farther."

In unrelated news, my neighbors, who I do not know very well, have been looking at me funny this week.

A Functional Adult Goes to Zumba Again

I went with Kas to Zumba again.  I'm no longer speaking to her.  Even if I wanted to, I couldn't - the most I could do would be to wheeze at her.  I tried to ask Siri to call someone for me because I was too tired to use my arms and she couldn't understand me and started condescendingly giving me her stupid tutorial about things she could do, none of which were apparently to UNDERSTAND ME when I need to CALL HUSBAND because of my IMMINENT DEATH BY LATIN MUSIC EXERCISE.

A Functional Adult Goes to Zumba

My friend Kas finally convinced me that my excuses for avoiding the gym were no longer valid:

1.  "Gym allergy" does not come up as a real thing on Wikipedia

2.  I couldn't complain about a lack of proper outfit for the gym since my mom bought me a cute new workout shirt for my birthday

3.  Kas could personally attest that the gym had not, in fact, "probably burned down" in the last few months

Not only were we going to the gym, we were going to an organized class, which would involve other people against which I would necessarily have to compare my wheezing self.  And we were going... to...

ZUMBA.

I had never been to zumba before.  Zumba combines two things I am not great at: Latin movement and aerobic exercise.  I've danced before, but it was more of the waltz-Broadway-ballet variety, which is to say that when I try, for example, salsa, the chilly stiffness of my Norwegian ancestors seems to triumph over any instruction.  I mostly prefer to dance at weddings, where most possible spectators are kind of drunk and thus unduly impressed by any move I execute.

Kas, on the other hand, speaks Spanish fluently and can shake it like the San Andreas Fault.  I was intimidated.

But there is one thing I like: anything that can distract me from the fact that I'm exercising.  So I gamely accompanied Kas to zumba.

The first song wasn't so bad!  We stepped forward and back and side to side and I could follow the instructor's moves reasonably well.  It was a little distressing to see quite so many women over 60 who were there and in FAR better shape than I am, but I'm kind of used to that.  (I'm in terrible shape and our gym is full of old people.)

It turned out that was the warmup.

Halfway through the second song, I was DYING.  The song was a fast-paced Latin hip hop song.  THe moves made me feel like a time traveler from the 1890s with lungs full of consumption and an inability to coordinate the movements of my hands with my legs.  

Me, to Kas, while wheezing: "This is the most aerobic exercise I have done in literally a year."

As the pace of the music continued unabated, my coorination decreased.  I tripped over my own foot at one point, almost rolling my ankle, to the alarm of the young woman dancercizing next to me.  But I made it through without dying, despite the fact that my movements looked positively lethargic.  And despite the fact that I was unable to catch enough breath to join in the enthusiastic whooping of the rest of the class.  And despite the fact that I was forced to realize that a bunch of late-middle-aged women were destroying me at zumba.

In fact, when I got home, I felt really good - it was almost like Elle Woods was on to something when she said exercise gives you endorphins, and endorphins make you happy.

I felt good until this morning, when what I felt instead was literally every muscle in my body objecting.  My calves were protesting that I had both used them yesterday and was now forcing them to walk in high heels.   My back was loudly commenting that it doesn't usually do things other than hunching over a keyboard.  My abs were just seething hotly.  And I spent the entire day starving to death, like I hadn't eaten in a year.

I'm going back next week.

A Functional Adult at Leisure

I'm between jobs at the moment - by choice; I wasn't fired or anything dramatic like that.  I was instructed by wise peers that true vacations - where you don't have to lie on the beach while keeping on eye on the ol' Blackberry-and-chain - are hard to come by.  So since I'm switching jobs, I thought I'd take a little time off in between.

Folks warned me I would get bored.  To which I respond and submit:  AS IF.  Boredom is for people who do not have games downloaded to their iPhone.  Not working is pretty fantastic, as it turns out.  Not only have I become the most feared pirate on the Spanish main, I am getting all kinds of projects done.  I have gone to the gym - me!  I know!  And I took my shoes to the shoe repair man at long last and made an art project and did the laundry and went to Home Depot regarding to-be-revealed activities.  I returned something at the mall.  I cooked many dinners.  I drove my shopping cart around the Safeway like a boss.  And I made this icebox cake, from this recipe:

At least the plate is pretty.

... though it turned out too spicy even though I cut the cayenne and chili powder in half.  Oh well.

I am also making solid progress on the stack of magazines I've accumulated over the last three months.  I have a real problem with magazines.  Delta told me that all of my miles were going to expire, so I had to spend them.  I tried buying things in their miles-store, since I didn't have enough for a ticket even down the street, but for some reason my miles weren't the kind that worked in their miles-store!  Aaaand the only thing I could get were magazines.  Which means I now subscribe to US Weekly (shut up), Cooking Light, ESPN: The Magazine, and Vogue (in addition to Husband's National Geographic, which I mostly only like to read for the pictures).  

Seriously.  So many.

Cooking Light is great because their recipes are pretty easy and usually tasty; I just eat twice as much of the food as whatever they say one serving is.  ESPN has beautiful photography, but I don't really care what the Devil Rays are up to.  I only read the football articles.  And Vogue makes me feel poorly-dressed and like I ought to be attending Society Functions. 

Which, by the way, if any of you are having a Society Function, I am free to attend.  In case you were wondering.

In any case, it's way too many magazines for a working human being to read. But I'm too... cheap? to throw them away.  So they pile up on top of the TV.  As it turns out, however, it's the right number of magazines for a non-working person!  So if you'd like to know my thoughts on Calvin Johnson of the Detroit Lions or cap-toed shoes or spice-encrusted tilapia tacos, you may ask.  Because I have acquired said thoughts through the reading of magazines.

So as you can see, I am not bored at all.  And may I mention again?  Gym.  Twice.  IN ONE WEEK.  It's statistically miraculous.  Though I did pull something so hard doing yoga a few days ago that I was convinced I was dying of multiple blood clots in my legs and back.  Apparently all this healthiness isn't agreeing with me - I should stick to being a virtual pirate.  

A Functional Adult Exercises

Liz (to Liz's body):  It's sunny outside!  We're going to go for a run!

Liz's body:  Wooo!  It's Saturday!  We slept for 10 HOURS last night!  Everything is wonderful!

Liz:  Yay!

-- two minutes later --

Liz's body:  Wait, I'm sorry.  This is what you meant by a run?  I had forgotten what that word means.

Liz:  Shut up.

Liz's body:  Seriously, though, I was under the impression we didn't do this sort of thing anymore?

Liz:  What are you talking about?  I exercise!  All the time!

Liz's body:  Yeah, no... the last time we did this was when you were studying for that test.  That bar thing.  That was clearly just about procrastinating from studying any more about holographic wills.

Liz:  No, no, that was about turning over a new leaf!  Becoming a lean, mean, legal machine!

Liz's body:  Nope, you gave the DISTINCT impression otherwise.  You see, you did some running during your bar-prep thing.  But after that, you spent six solid months eating food trucks for lunch every day and didn't move from that Aeron chair for 10 hours a day.  You had clearly thrown out that terrible "running" thing along with those community property flashcards.

Liz's right glute:  Creeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrnk.

Liz:  I... what?  What's happening?

Liz's body:  And you see, I acted in reliance on that.  I got comfortable with it.  And that means you, bucko, are estopped from changing things.

Liz:  Estopped?  Where did you learn all that?

Liz's body:  I was paying attention in Barbri, unlike you.

Liz's left calf:  PING PING POW!

Liz:  Knock it off!  All of you!  I'm very fit!  Come on, guys!

Liz's body:  I have become accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and you will not take that away from me!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

Liz's lung (just remembering asthma, and how great that is):  Fzzzzzzzzzzzz fzzzzzzzzzzz fwwwwooooooopf.

Michelle Branch (via iPod shuffle):  If I just BREEEEEAAAATHE...

Liz:  DAMMIT, Michelle, I'm TRYING!

(Liz limps dejectedly home)