Off The Beaten Path: Bring Me Some Figgy Pudding (I Won’t Leave Until I Get Some!)
I want some Figgy Pudding. No, really, I am digging my cross trainer fitness shoes into the running track and not budging until I get some Figgy Pudding. Now I know that all of you reading this are like, “Girrrrrl, are you crazy? You don’t own any cross trainer fitness shoes and you definitely don’t know where the running track is located!”
Ha! You’re wrong! I happen to be a proud member (for the past 7 days) at the local fitness center. And I have actually worked out there 5 days. So smoke that in your pipe!
Four years ago I weighed 115 pounds and was a size 4. All I had to do to maintain that weight was walk Gunny twice a day and cut back on the fast food and sweets and snacks. And then I broke my foot walking Gunny and my daughter’s wedding was over and I lost some of my motivation – and oh yeah, I turned 50 and menopause moved in. I still walked Gunny but the weight kept piling on. Not only do I not look bad – but I also feel bad. I’ll be honest; I want to be thin again. I like being thin. But more importantly I want to be healthy. I want to play on the floor with my granddaughter. I don’t want my hips, knees, back and neck to be in chronic pain.
When I found out that my friend Lorri was going to the gym 5 days a week, I asked her if I could be her “workout buddy” and she graciously agreed. I bought a 6-month membership last week (go big or go home is my new motto), filled up my water bottle and dug out my yoga pants. I was ready to conquer the fat. “I don’t sweat,” I told Lorri when we met in the lobby of the fitness center. Never have, probably never will.”
“Oh, I will make you sweat,” she said. Upon reflecting on this conversation I realize that she said this with a sinister laugh and quite possibly an evil sneer. We started out with 10 laps on the track – running 3 of those laps. I haven’t ran since I was in high school, except for a few occasions of running to keep my toddlers out of harm’s way and racing Gunny to the refrigerator for ice cream. I huffed and puffed my way around the track. I collapsed onto the floor. “Grab an exercise ball,” said Lorri. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.” I somehow got off of the ground, grabbed a dang exercise ball and plopped my arse on it. I prompted rolled off. Lorri stifled a giggle. Heave ho – I get myself upright and attempt to climb back on the ball and slide right off again. Lorri laughs out loud. Super fit college girls turn their heads and guffaw. Third time's a charm and I manage to do a few sit ups and push-ups. I feel sweat rolling down my back. Lorri is giddy with delight. “See, I told you that I would make you sweat.” It is then that I realize that Lorri is not a sweet and nice lady; she is an ‘Exercise Nazi’. I fear for my life.
We move downstairs to the equipment room. “Dear Lord,” I exclaim. “Isn’t the workout over yet?” Lorri cackles. We enter the Torture Dungeon and board the Stairmaster. After a few minutes I tell Lorri that I have decided that I don’t want buns of steel and if we leave now, it’s my treat at the local yogurt shop. (Hey, it’s yogurt, that’s healthy…) I am told to keep on stepping. Great, now that Mary Poppins tune is running through my head. Next up is the Elliptical Machine. I believe this is when I made the sign of the cross and screamed, “Be gone, Satan.” I also get a text from the yogurt shop that if I stop in, I will get a 10% discount. If that isn’t a sign from Above, I don’t know what is.
I made it 3:58 seconds on the Elliptical before I had to disembark and head over to the Stationary Bike. I finally find something I can do comfortably. Finally, after 90 minutes of torture, Lorri declares an end to the session. We do stretches. “Doesn’t this feel wonderful?” says my perky workout buddy.
“Oh h*** to the no.” I bellow. “Can’t you see that I am dying over here? My abs are on fire. My calf muscles want to explore. I don’t think I can walk out to the parking lot.”
I’m plugging away at exercising. I realize that it may take some time before I see any results. I’ve switched over to wheat bread (gag) and I am snacking on celery sticks and raisins. I even bought new tennis shoes and some workout clothes. I try to ignore all of the young, fit kids at the gym, although I know that this chubby little old granny is providing them with lots of entertainment. It is with much sadness that I drive by McDonald’s and the yogurt shop after each workout. But if by any chance someone is serving Figgy Pudding this Christmas season, well – you’d better clear a path because this gal is gonna get some! But for the love of all that is holy, don’t tell Lorri!