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ex·er·cise
n.
n.
According to Webster:
"Activity that requires physical or mental exertion, especially whenperformed to develop or maintain fitness"
According to Dave:
"The masochistic method of creating extremepain in regions of your body that until said punishment hasbeen administered, have not transformed from it's fetal stages."
What do you do when you have lost weight that is equivalentto that of a 4 year old? Besides the obvious, brag... strut andpreen... you attempt to mould your body into something resemblingthat of "Good Shape". How do you go about obtaining thisstate of mind and body?
Exercise.
Too many letters to be a "four–letter word", but it enforces theexact same meaning, in my humble opinion.
I don't "do" gyms. 90% of them are simple fashion shows withTwiggy shaped females, and Van Damme cloned men, flexing andunflexing as a member of the opposite sex passes by. I preferthe sanctity of my living room. That way my non–existentmuscles are flexed for my eyes only.
Donning the classic black cotton/spandex tights with matchingblack sports bra, I stand in the living room. It has been yearssince my last aerobics class, but the routines are seeminglyidentical now as they were then.
Placing a tape in the machine, I flick on the television.Almost immediately, a perfectly manicured, coiffured andperfectly made–up female version of Hercules appears on myscreen. She smiles at me. I smile back. She seems very nice,and even states that she wants to help me.
She directs where I should place my feet, how far up to reachwith my hands and how to "march on the spot" in time to themusic she plays in the background.
So far so good. At least that's what she said."You're doing wonderfully! That's it!"I'm beaming. I'm doing wonderfully and she says so.Except it's only 5 minutes into this routine and I'm winded.
Now she has me running on the spot with 5lb weights ineach hand, bending and unbending my arm. "4 more.... 3 more.... 2 more... 1 more....""Wonderful work!"YEAY! I must be done! My arms are killing me but all in allI think I did a good job, and prepare to have a shower.
"Take your mat, lie on your back, feet shoulder distanceapart"
Oh. Ok well if I'm not done, at least I get to lie down now.She really is looking out for me, and I find myself reallyappreciating her kindness.
I look at the screen to see her pedaling an imaginary bike, while lying on her back, and bringing her elbows to meet herknees as she peddles. All while twisting her body this way andthat. I attempt to do the same.
"That's it! Very good!"
She's not even winded.
And she starts to pedal faster.
My stomach muscles are exploding, I'm going half speed, myelbows are not reaching my knees, I'm sweating likeJerry Lewis in a room full of mothers and female comediansand really resenting the fact that she doesn't evenhave a hair out of place.
"Faster now... c"mon, lift those legs... squeeze that tummy!"She peddles. I don't."Very good! 4 more... three more..."
Fool.
Finally she stops the idiotic peddling and has me lie flat again.Knees bent, feet shoulder width apart flat on the floor.Actually this is comfortable and I feel calmer toward her again.
"Now lift that butt! Squeeeeeeze it tight.. hold it... hold it... andlower. Lift squeeze release. Lift squeeze release."
I do this, over and over, lifting, squeezing and releasing, thankfulMr Happy isn't there to see this. This isn't so bad at all!
"Now lift and HOLD IT! HOLD IT TIGHT! Squeeze tight and putyour feet together, put your knees together... now lift squeezerelease"
This... is a virtual impossibility. Yet there she is, lifting andsqueezing. I struggle and feel muscles in my butt screamingat me. My face tenses, my hands fist and I hold it, just like thesadistic SOB tells me to.
"Hold it tight! Make it burn!"
Something is going to burn, but it's not going to be my butt.It will be her soul, the blackhearted witch.I hate her again and want very much to step on her hair whileshe gets up, shakes her supple limbs out and goes for thecool down.
I simply lie there on my back, panting, sweating, feeling everysingle muscle in my entire body laugh at me and unable to liftmy hand to click the vcr off. I listen to her speaking to me.
"There now! Don't you feel better! I'm so proud of you!Jump into the shower and we'll meet again tomorrow!"She prances off.
I'm immobile. I can't even crawl to the shower much less"jump" into it. Slowly I drag myself to a standing position.Hunched over, one hand on my butt, the other graspingpieces of furniture. I hobble to the vcr and take the tape out.With the last of my strength, leaning against the couch, I yankthe film from the tape. It gathers in a curled heap at my feet.
As I am doing this, Mr Happy walks in the room and looksat me.
"What are you doing?"
I look up at him and smile.
"Exercising."
©Kelly McColl
About the author:
I am the Lady named Dave. 34 year old wife of 15 years to the luckiest man in the world, whom I fondly refer to as "Mr Happy". Mother to twowonderful boys, charmers I refer to as "Damian" and "Lucifer".Perfect nuclear family. Just drifting through life with allotof laughs, trying to keep the sanity.
I spend allot of time writing columns formyself, and for some ezines on the web.I am a proud member of the NetWitsOrganization (URL is http: //www.thenetwits.com).
Samples of Kelly's work can be found at:
The World According to a Lady Named Dave .
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©Margie Culbertson
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