I live with people who lift. They say things like…
I don’t fuckin know what they say. Some of them don’t parle croissant or habla taco, and I don’t speak lift.
“Say things about weightlifting.”
“Say the words I don’t know because I don’t know and I can’t think of any.”
“Today I power cleaned and hang cleaned and strict pressed and benched and did kettle bell rows.”
“I dead lifted and did shoulder rows.”
“Yesterday we did Russian twists and shoulder shrugs.”
“And close-grip lat pull downs.”
“I did supine pull-ups.”
And I’m like “Kettle? These salt and vinegar kettle chips are so crunchy!” Oh yeah, sometimes while they lift, I swim or walk on the treadmill, and sometimes I’ll even use the nautilus equipment cause I am a little middle-aged white woman who wants to keep her original bones, but then I go home and seriously, I try NOT to lift things. I like to feel light and buoyant.
Is the crushing weight of the world not heavy enough?
I have heard the lifters say they have to lift more because they didn’t feel any pain.
Who the fuck are these people?
For those of you who know me, I would rather run than lift weights. And for those who do not know me, I only run when it’s imperative, like chasing and tackling a toddler before she reaches the street, like running and sliding into the back door to prevent the kitten escaping. Occasionally, I find I am running on accident, because I’m having fun playing, but all these times are rare and short.
I also live with runners. They say, “I ran X kilometers,” and since I don’t understand running or kilometers, I say, “I typed about that long.”
I walk fast. If I need to get there faster than I walk, I drive, okay?
Running makes my heart beat too fast, triggering anxiety. It makes me sweat and my rosacea flares and my boobs hit one another and there’s chaffing and I get thirsty and then I have to wash my hair. No, thank you.
Furthermore, I drink Gatorade only when I am ill.
Remember when you were a kid and your mom took you somewhere to get something special and you asked, “How many can I get?”
Yeah. My kids, Gatorade, every time we go.
I recently got a damn tetanus shot. The Tdap. Yay, cause don’t nobody want diseases that kill us, but also, boo, cause those damn things hurt. I don’t mean the tiny poke of ow with the injection, but the hard, tender bump after. Oh that doesn’t happen to you? How nice. In case you have not, as of yet, figured out how special I am, IF THERE IS A REACTION TO A THING, I WILL HAVE IT.
Living in my body be like this:
For Other People “May cause…”
For Me “You gonna have…”
I’m just glad I’m not in the group that can’t have the vaccine.
It didn’t hurt right away, which made me think they maybe make kinder shots now. The following day, the tenderness inflamed and I made Mentor feel my bump. Then I made my kids feel it. All three ladies gently slid their hands over the bump and made the same surprised-sad face when they felt it.
When The Mister got home, I made him feel my bump and HE PRESSED INTO IT and said he felt nothing.
It should be noted that Moo and I could actually see the bump through my cardigan, but The Mister couldn’t feel it.
So later, when the lifters were showing off their big muscles, I slid my hand across The Mister’s bicep and I said, “I don’t feel anything.”
Happy Friday Everyone!