Monday, December 04, 2006
Let's get physical, physical: I want to hear your body talk-body talk.
My recent (going on 8 months now) a/de-scent(however you chose to define it, really) into athleticism has been more than just lower cholesterol (total cholesterol: 150 -- beat that, bitches.) and a sweeter ass. It has included a painful and all-too-much-like-my-regular-inbred-Catholic-guilt-about-everything-else guilt when I don't work out. When my schedule (and as of late, my left knee) doesn't permit a good old fashioned work out, I improvise.
Tonight -- between baking birthday cupcakes for school tomorrow (ahh, when was the last time you got to bring cupcakes to school for your birthday?!), picking up my stranded BFF from the car dealership that commited vehicular manslaugher on her wallet and preparing for the last and final installment of Cathy: The Mental Hospital Days tomorrow -- I decided on dusting off my pilates workouts. On VHS. And that's hardcore. Is anything still on VHS?
The funny part was this -- the Betrothed wanted in on the pilates action. After the look of shock and wonder left my face (and indeed, after I was fully convinced he wasn't just smearing mental chocolate sauce all over the girls in the video -- who are so buff they could pummel him with their minds (over VHS, no less) for even thinking it) I moved the coffee table and made room for our mini living-room gym.
There was, and there always is, a stipulation. The Betrothed, willing to learn and do Windsor Pilates (on VHS) with me, insisted that he be able to at least keep Deal-Or-No-Deal (hereafter: DOND) on mute on picture-in-picture while the pilates video was running.
And really, it wasn't a problem. The Betrothed learned that he couldn't (and really, why should be be able to?) fully extend his leg up in the air at a 90 degree angle without bending his knee. I assured him it would be possible after a few more workouts and once Mari "Call me 'Pilates'"Windsor was done with him. I also directed him past the spandex clad exercise-hench-women to the lowly man bandished to the back of the video. While his female counterparts are all wearing green lycra in different variations (a la: Destiny's Child - Pre-Solo-Beyonce - when they showed up in the same dress, but one was long, one was short, one was two piece, etc. Please don't fake like you don't know exactly what I mean.), dude was wearing grey baggy sweatpants and a loose blue wife beater. The Betrothed takes one look at this man who is effortlessly tossing his leg over his sholder without causing any apparent pain and says, "Yeah, he can do it, but he is clearly gay. And he's IN the workout video." A good point. I shouldn't be comparing my Phi Beta Kappa brainiac Betrothed to the sweatpants' high kicks. Clearly, the Betrothed can achieve much higher mental kicks. Apples and workout-video oranges, man. I lay corrected on my exercise mat.
I was so entrenched in "using my powerhouse" and "breathing in through the nose" that I had completely forgotten that DOND was on. Completely forgotten, that is, until the Betrothed occasionally would blurt out, "SUCKS! He opened the $750,000!" or "Did you see that? He just lassoed Howie!"
When it was all over the Betrothed agreed that he liked it and would do it again. In fact, he was so moved by all the little places "where it hurts" that he refused a sneak preview of the fresh-from-the-oven birthday cupcake. We may be onto something.
You just wait. By next summer I'm going to have my very own, homegrown running partner. I'm going to start small now while he's least suspecting.
It's pilates with DOND today -- and tomorrow it'll be 5Ks with (me singing) Outkast's"Hey Ya".
Tonight -- between baking birthday cupcakes for school tomorrow (ahh, when was the last time you got to bring cupcakes to school for your birthday?!), picking up my stranded BFF from the car dealership that commited vehicular manslaugher on her wallet and preparing for the last and final installment of Cathy: The Mental Hospital Days tomorrow -- I decided on dusting off my pilates workouts. On VHS. And that's hardcore. Is anything still on VHS?
The funny part was this -- the Betrothed wanted in on the pilates action. After the look of shock and wonder left my face (and indeed, after I was fully convinced he wasn't just smearing mental chocolate sauce all over the girls in the video -- who are so buff they could pummel him with their minds (over VHS, no less) for even thinking it) I moved the coffee table and made room for our mini living-room gym.
There was, and there always is, a stipulation. The Betrothed, willing to learn and do Windsor Pilates (on VHS) with me, insisted that he be able to at least keep Deal-Or-No-Deal (hereafter: DOND) on mute on picture-in-picture while the pilates video was running.
And really, it wasn't a problem. The Betrothed learned that he couldn't (and really, why should be be able to?) fully extend his leg up in the air at a 90 degree angle without bending his knee. I assured him it would be possible after a few more workouts and once Mari "Call me 'Pilates'"Windsor was done with him. I also directed him past the spandex clad exercise-hench-women to the lowly man bandished to the back of the video. While his female counterparts are all wearing green lycra in different variations (a la: Destiny's Child - Pre-Solo-Beyonce - when they showed up in the same dress, but one was long, one was short, one was two piece, etc. Please don't fake like you don't know exactly what I mean.), dude was wearing grey baggy sweatpants and a loose blue wife beater. The Betrothed takes one look at this man who is effortlessly tossing his leg over his sholder without causing any apparent pain and says, "Yeah, he can do it, but he is clearly gay. And he's IN the workout video." A good point. I shouldn't be comparing my Phi Beta Kappa brainiac Betrothed to the sweatpants' high kicks. Clearly, the Betrothed can achieve much higher mental kicks. Apples and workout-video oranges, man. I lay corrected on my exercise mat.
I was so entrenched in "using my powerhouse" and "breathing in through the nose" that I had completely forgotten that DOND was on. Completely forgotten, that is, until the Betrothed occasionally would blurt out, "SUCKS! He opened the $750,000!" or "Did you see that? He just lassoed Howie!"
When it was all over the Betrothed agreed that he liked it and would do it again. In fact, he was so moved by all the little places "where it hurts" that he refused a sneak preview of the fresh-from-the-oven birthday cupcake. We may be onto something.
You just wait. By next summer I'm going to have my very own, homegrown running partner. I'm going to start small now while he's least suspecting.
It's pilates with DOND today -- and tomorrow it'll be 5Ks with (me singing) Outkast's"Hey Ya".
# posted by Cathy @ 9:31:00 PM 
