"OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH"

I had surgery in May so I stopped exercising. I guess I didn't stop completely. We have a pool and we were in it almost every day this summer and I have a rule (with myself) that I need to be moving constantly while I am in there--leg lifts, running in place, laps, lunges...anything that keeps me moving. The problem is, my body hates me and unless I am in pain or visibly uncomfortable, it rejects any of the benefits of whatever I am doing.

The same thing happened last summer. I was in the pool and moving every day and still gained over ten pounds because I didn't take out extra time to exercise. I joined the Y and lost a little, but when I stopped for surgery, I gained ten more. I told  you. My body hates me. I have to set extra time aside in my day to only focus on exercise for it to count. My body is like a spoiled child--we'll call it Veruca Salt (although it more closely resembles Violet Beauregarde or Augustus Gloop) and if I don't show it extra attention, it shuts down on me. It doesn't matter if I spend each day running and playing or swimming and jumping around with my children--if I haven't inconvenienced or hurt myself in some way, it doesn't count as exercise and I pack on the pounds. Stupid body.

I planned on going back to the Y, but there is a gym in town that offers more classes for a lower price, so I decided to go there instead.  I LOVE my new gym, but there is one catch--all of my...classmates...are senior citizens. Senior citizens who could wipe the floor with my exhausted middle-aged body and would gladly do so if I mess with their...chi.

I started going regularly to my new gym the second week in September. My very first class was Yoga with the body ball. You are going to need a back story here. I may be the most uncoordinated person...well...EVER, so balancing on a body ball should have set off alarms for me, but I forged ahead confidently. You would think that my nine? Ten? years of dancing and my dance classes in college would give me the background necessary to conquer stretching and meditation, but  you would be wrong. In fact, in my twenties I belonged to a gym in downtown Buffalo and "spinning" and step aerobics were introduced for the first time. I was maybe twenty-five and in pretty good shape (though I would NEVER have thought so at the time!), but I'm pretty sure that I took out a line of dancers when I was supposed to be pivoting or stepping or spinning...and that was when I was IN shape--imagine me now!

It's also important to note that I went out ALL the time when I was in my twenties. All. The. Time. In fact, it started to feel like a job (IF ONLY...), I went out so much. And I danced. At least three nights a week you would find me rocking out (or crazily and grotesquely flapping my limbs) for hours until some cranky DJ told me that I didn't have to go home, but I couldn't stay there. I never thought of it as exercise until I went to a wedding recently and felt like my legs may buckle beneath me before the end of the first song. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that I went to the gym regularly and went dancing most nights that made me able to endure it then and perhaps my body is rebelling against me now that I don't do all of that. Or any of that! 

Of course, every time I got into a relationship, I would stop going to the gym and stop going out "clubbing," and would spend more time eating out and  leading a sedentary lifestyle. Every time the relationships ended, I would get back to the gym and back to going out and would lose the weight again. I met my husband through a former boyfriend who worked with him (there are sooo many stories from that time that should not be told!)--we'll call him Joe. Joe and I went to see Patch Adams (does anyone even remember that movie? Robin Williams is a doctor with a clown nose...? Anyway...) one evening.  We were walking up the stairs to our seats and I [somehow] tripped over...nothing...and ended up on my butt,  all the while yelling, "OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH" because I was convinced I was going to spill the popcorn and drink and because I often let out little yells when I fall. Or when I hurt myself. Or when something surprises me. Really I am just a noisy person. Luckily, there were only like three other couples there, though that didn't assuage my embarrassment much.  What's funny is the fact that my husband loves this story. Mostly because because he finds it funny that "Joe" had me carrying everything in the first place--and also the fact that I have a similar fall at least once a week.

In fact, about a year and a half later--a month before our wedding--my husband and I were eating outside at a restaurant in Charlotte when a bee started buzzing around us. Our table was directly in front of the window of the restaurant, so everyone inside could see (and hear) what was happening. I got a little panicky (I do that) about the bee--no, I am not allergic, I just have an unnatural fear of bees. My legs were wrapped around the legs of the plastic chair, so when I tried to get up (after the bee had the audacity to land on me), my feet got tangled up in the chair and..."OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH!"  I was on the ground with the chair and the table on top of me. I saw everyone in the restaurant leap up to see if I was okay and some cars in the parking lot pulled over to help me. I still have the scar on my forearm where I scraped off a good chunk of my skin and my knee and foot were pretty bloody as well. As for the BEE...well, he stuck around to laugh at my wounds for a minute and then flew off to attack some other innocent bystander. My husband assessed the situation and calmly observed, "Well...at least you didn't get stung!"

All of this brings me back to Yoga and the body ball. And the senior citizens. My first day, the teacher greeted me and gave me a ball. I set it up with my mat and left to get a drink which took maybe three minutes. By the time I got back an eighty-eight-year-old bully had taken my ball, was sitting on it, and was looking at me like, "So what are you gonna do about it?" This woman could barely stand upright (that is not an insult--I have my own troubles with standing), but I felt confident that she would cut me before I could say, "Wheel of Fortune" if I even addressed her thievery. I decided to let it go and opted to not make eye contact. Bitches be scary. (That's got to give me some street cred, right?!)

I learned my lesson for the next class and did not leave after I got my ball. You would think that there would be nothing further, but again, you would be wrong. We were practicing different...exercises? in balance before class even officially started. I am pretty sure it was the one where we center our backs on the ball and then lift one leg at a time and then both legs. I'm not really sure if that is what we were supposed to do, but that is what I did--until I didn't any more and the room echoed with my "OOOOHAYYYYEEEUUGGGH" as I tumbled over, taking out the leader of the geriatric Cryps, hitting my head on the PVC pipes that are used to house the body balls (two of which came bouncing down on top of me), and scraping my knee and forearm (strangely enough on the same scars that were from my bee experience) in the process. As everyone rushed to my aid (including my Cryps friend who actually had balancing issues herself--not related to my fall and she was fine), but I was quick to send them away noting that it was more embarrassing than painful. Luckily for me, they all were adamant that everyone falls at least once and I shouldn't worry at all. 

Until I take out the geriatric Tai Chi team...