I just ran my first 5K this past October. People keep telling me that now that I’ve run a 5K, I’ll somehow magically want to run a 10K and then train for a half marathon. Guess what? Not gonna happen.
It took me 3 YEARS of running 3-4 times per week before I could make it 3 miles, with the tiny hills in my neighborhood, running the whole time without taking a walking break. I’ve never experienced runner’s high. (Is this a real thing? The only “high” I get is knowing the run is OVER!) I don’t see a hill a think “Just keep pushing yourself!” I don’t need to make it one more mile–I just want to burn enough calories that I can eat a handful of chocolate covered almonds or drink a glass of wine without cutting into my allotted daily calories for dinner. I’m not motivated to beat yesterday’s time for the 3 miles I will run. I am JUST to the point where the best I can say about running is that I don’t hate it.
Enter my husband, who decided he needs to work out regularly, too, and asked me to keep him accountable by doing P90X3 with him. I love my husband. I generally enjoy doing activities with him. A week ago, I thought I was in pretty decent shape (certainly the best shape of my life), so after I confirmed that these work outs were only 30 minutes long, I agreed.
It was a mistake.
First, we had to go buy equipment. There are DVDs. And weights. And yoga mats. And a freaking chin up bar(?!?!?!). Then in the first video, Tony what’s-his-face tells me I need a different kind of sneaker because running shoes won’t cut it for this type of work out. Um, what?
Now, I’m not a completely naive person. I knew that just because I was in good enough shape to run 3 miles didn’t mean I could bench press 100 pounds or do 20 push-ups in a row (spoiler: I can do 1 before I have to sink to my knees). But I thought it would be easier.
Now, I spend 30 minutes a day wondering, as each new exercise is introduced, What fresh hell is this?
I’m jumping over a folded towel like I’m skiing across my bedroom rug. I’m doing squats and lunges while holding weights in my hand while some ripped people on TV tell me I can’t bend my elbows. I’m jumping on pieces of tape with X’s on them, trying not to lose my balance and crash into my TV. But the thought has occurred to me that if I break the TV, I wouldn’t have to do the #$%# P90X3 work-out anymore. Sadly, I also wouldn’t be able to watch Downton Abbey, so that’s out. I guess.
Tony what’s-his-face (I legitimately don’t know his last name, don’t care, and am too lazy to look it up), is annoying. So annoying. He walks around ogling his employees as they work out (to his credit, though, he’s creepier towards the guys than the girls) and joins in only a third of the work out. Which is all he can do, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to talk. The. Whole. Time. Seriously, the dude never shuts up. And at least one point in the 30 minutes, he says “You could be on the elliptical right now, spinning around like a hamster” to which I shout at the TV: “I WANT TO BE ON MY ELLIPTICAL RIGHT NOW!”
Then there are the pull ups and chin ups. Even in high school, when I played volleyball, occasionally visited my school’s weight room, and weighed 25 pounds less, I couldn’t do a pull up. I’m sure if I ever find myself dangling from a cliff, I’ll be really sorry I can’t lift my own body weight–but as I’ve made it 34 years without finding myself in that sort of life-threatening situation, I have the optimistic thought I’m never going to be in that situation. So I use a resistance band and hate that my husband (who only weighs 10 pounds more than me despite being 6 feet tall and his general lack of regularity in his work outs*) can do real pull-ups.
Maybe in 85 days (yes, I am counting), I will be a P90X convert. Maybe I’ll have the chiseled muscles and flat stomach the mother of 6 kids on the video has and sing the praises of this program to anyone who will listen to me. Or maybe I’ll go back to my elliptical until it gets warm enough to run outdoors again and only pull out the DVD to do the yoga work out. Because so far, that’s the only one I like.
Completely gratuitous picture of my husband and I. Because he’s hot and my friend is a fantastic photographer.
*Up until about six months ago, he weighed less than me, too. Feel free to hate him. But since he also eats 100% less chocolate and bread than I do, I supposed it’s fair.
