Monday, June 9, 2008

Move Over, Buns Of Steel!

Because I’ve got Buns Of Envy!

Well, sort of.

On Saturday afternoon, I decided to get my bored ass motivated to exercise.
(Yes, it was 95 degrees out. Yes, we have no air conditioning. Yes, I’m slightly insane. Buy hey, if exercising in temperatures that rival Hades isn’t showing motivation, I don’t know what is.)


My lower body is almost back to normal from the class from hell, so it must be time to work my thighs and glutes again. (You might say I'm a glute-n for punishment. Sorry. Couldn't help myself)

I flip the TV on and start surfing through the free shows we get through our cable. I click on the section for fitness. There must be a hundred different programs from which I could choose.

"Buns Of Envy" looks interesting.

I lay out my yoga mat on the carpet.

Vito senses something is up and hops down to sniff my mat. Vito HATES when anyone exercises. Maybe it’s the sudden movements or the lack of attention paid to him, but he goes nuts whenever I try to do something. So basically, I don’t exercise so I don’t upset him.

I click PLAY.

The instructor and two assistants come into view, on a beautiful beach area. She’s a petite little brunette with a diamond-studded “N” around her neck. Interesting exercise gear.

Her outfit resembles less of workout garb and more of that a Girls Gone Wild video star would wear, when she's about to hop into a ring filled with mud.

She picks up a hand weight and begins doing the first set of exercises.

Whoa! No stretching or anything. I'm cool with no warm up and pulled muscles.

My hand weights are downstairs and I don’t feel like going downstairs to get them (Hey, baby steps). What else can I use?

I run (read: walk) to the pantry and grab a can of cannellini beans.

Buns Of Envy, Italian-style.


Miss N is smiling and talking and coaching.

Here we go!

(cue dog barking!)

Reverse lunge.

Check.

Plié squat.

Check.

Glute kick.

Check.

Helicopter Lunge.

And this is where it fell apart.

It’s not that I couldn’t follow her doing the exercise. I’m very adept and catch only rather quickly. It’s just that I couldn’t listen to her coach me through it.

MISS N: “Squat and bring your arms acrost your body. Squat. Acrost. Squat. Acrost. And 8 more. And acrost…”

Acrost??? Acrost???

Her mispronunciation of the word is driving me crazy. It’s all I can hear.

I’ve stopped counting lunges and started counting how many times she’s said 'acrost'.

28.

Twenty-frickin-eight times.

All hope of me getting past this is gone. I put my beans down and sit on the mat. Vito runs up and snuggles in for a belly rub.

Doesn’t look like I’ll have "Buns Of Envy" anytime soon.

But I'm happy with "Command Of The English Language Of Envy".

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