But first, a little haiku, in honor of my swim workout this morning:
Pieces of my lungs
left on the bottom of pool
nice to have known you.
Anyway, obviously it’s up to me to get this blog back on track, to a workout-focused training manual rather than this “algae” tomfoolery. To that point - had my VQ (Vision Quest) cycling class (aka Cycling Torture) last night – this is where a bunch of us fools pay good money to be barked at by uberfit Herr Instructor Dave Noda, who tells us what worthless air-sucking maggots we all are. Okay, not really, but that’s what I hear. Today, his twisted and sick mind has decided that in between bike intervals, we’ll do some core fitness workout stuff, aka Stuff Tasha Can’t Do. Like jumping over things. Doing lungey-squatty things. More jumping, this time on one foot, onto things. This is madness. Then out of nowhere, we get to an exercise that speaks to my soul, the slide thingamabob where you put booties on and slide back and forth. Given that this is just like skating, I am a total rockstar. I of course feel the need to point this out to everyone, including Dave. “Hey Dave, look, I can actually do something!”
He looks over, stunned and perhaps a bit shaken, and then trots off briskly, undoubtedly to record this moment in the annals of VQ history. “January 31, 2007, 6:58PM, Discovery of something Tasha does not suck at. Do you believe in miracles??”
Of course, soon enough we’re on to other things, so the moment of exhilaration was short-lived. Balancing on the bouncy ball….balance……bala……….eeeeeeeeeeek *THUD*. So much for my balletic grace. Holding the plank position….holding….hooooolding…..must have been 2 minutes by now….I look at the clock. Damn thing obviously needs new batteries, as it claims only about 8 seconds have elapsed. Hmm, I guess a diet of cheez doodles and bonbons aren’t quite the thing to build up one’s core strength, since I apparently have none.
The biking is its usual torturous self. The guy next to me keeps looking at my little display doodad which feels it necessary to broadcast how excruciatingly slow I am. After many minutes of this, I finally say out loud what he’s clearly thinking:
“Yes, I’m slow” I snarl. “It’s part of my training plan – it’s called ramping up. That okay with you, bub?”
“Oh, umm, err…” he stammers unintelligibly. I scowl at him, and make a mental note to smoke his sorry ass if I ever see him on a bike course.
Then this morning, I bravely mustered up every ounce of fortitude to face the frigid pool waters again. Brrr. I’m pretty sure I see a baby harp seal darting around in the icy blue depths. No matter. I have work to do. I do my usual grueling routine of 6x50, interspersed with 6 Thighmaster sets. Whew! Then, as I’m finishing up, I notice the guy who has just entered the pool to do laps, looking all smug and swimmerly, which fires up my competitive instincts. I time my last lap so that on the way back, we’re pushing off at the same time. Swim, swim, faster, faaaaaster……..victory! I beat him by several lengths! Of course, now I realize two things: a) he’s probably just doing his warmup, and b) I’m completely exhausted. I drag myself out of the pool and look very studly as I lay there gasping for air like a beached carp.
Sigh. It’s going to be a long, long 5 months.
Finally, I stumble off to the locker room and see that I’ve left my little locker with all my stuff in it wide open. Brilliant. Welcome to Tasha’s House of Stupid. Pull up a chair, folks – we could be here a while.