Boot camp has been on Spring Break for the past two weeks. I had every intention to get up at 5:00 a.m. and get to the gym, because I can do it (thank you, Rob Schneider)! The gods of snooze, however, had amazing powers that overpowered my eyeballs. After three days of trying to figure out how to set my seemingly simple alarm clock to snooze unsuccessfully, (No, not off! How do I set the freaking thing? Good Lord.), I gave up the good fight and chose to sleep in. Instead of “Body by Jake,” it has been, “Body by Me.”
I have tortured myself, day after day, consistently waiting until the last possible minute to get to the gym. Once there, however, I have given all I have at the gym. I have been running sprints, walking inclines at 13.5%, running 8:24 miles (usually only one, at the beginning of the workout), swimming, weights, and the stair-climber. My hard work has resulted in a weight loss of 11 pounds in the past four weeks. That is nothing to shake a stick at! Go team, Laura!
The Gym (Rant)
I enjoy the solitude of working out alone. I find it therapeutic. It is not the fact that I am anti-social at the gym, yet I am not seeking out conversation. I do not do my hair and make-up. I am not interested in making new friends. I began swimming recently. I have taken up the habit of swimming after an intense work-out in the gym. It serves a couple purposes, mainly: it cools me down and to stretch out my aching, tired muscles.
The times I have chosen to go to the gym have been perfect! There seems to be few people off work at 4-ish p.m. I can quietly, in solitude complete my work-out, clearing my mind and finding my inner solace. It has become apparent, however, that I am a chatty Cathy magnet, in the pool. I get into the pool, feeling clean and blissful. I am connected to my thoughts and feeling centered. Before too long, someone comes along and feels compelled to share their innermost thoughts and observations with me:
Pool Goer 1: Doesn’t the pool leave your hair feeling dry when you get out?
Me: Uh-huh. Sometimes.
PG1: I have curly hair and the chlorine dries mine out.
Me: Humm. swimming vigorously, spitting out water in between breaths
PG1: begins telling me at length about her hair cutting experiences and how people told her she would grow to love her naturally curly hair when she got older, but it hasn’t happened yet. She is over 40 and still waiting.
Me: Continue to swim and complete my workout.
Pool Goer 2: How is the water?
Me: GREAT, it feel wonderful!
PG2: wades in the water for a while, then begins to tell me about her experiences in the Navy and being forced to swim.
Me: spitting in between breaths. Hmmm. That is great.
Pool Goer 3: How is the water?
Me: GREAT! Continuing to swim. Spitting water when necessary. I am a spitting swimmer.
PG3: somehow gets onto the subject of needing to pick up and drop off her boyfriend at work. His car is not running and requires a computer part that is going to cost $250.
These are just a few examples. I find it interesting that this attempt at conversation knows no age limits. It does not matter how old the person is. Every time I get in the pool, I get a verbose “swimmer” looking for an ear to bend. I guess I look very friendly when wet? At the same time, I do not feel like I am engaging them. I am trying to get my heart rate up and letting my brain rattle around my empty head, before I have to get back to my motherly and wifely duties. I was swimming the other day, with one of my chatty swimmers, (who was trying to keep pace with me) and commented on how fast I was swimming (Uh, maybe I am trying to get away from you? Just a thought). I began picturing myself behind a stand, with a sign in front, that says, “The doctor is in.” I do not want to be rude. I am just not a proficient enough swimmer to multi-task. Swim fortheloveofGodandallthatisholy! For the love of dog.
I have not been sleeping well. I lie awake and it screws up my whole next day. When I finally fall asleep, I fall into the deepest sleep, usually for less than four hours at a time. Sometimes, I have been waking up with nightmares. The most traumatizing, was one that I was able to wake myself up from at 3:00 a.m. I was being courted by Bret Michaels, formerly of Poison and Rock of Love, and currently on the Celebrity Apprentice. He was extremely persistent, corny, and interested in me. I tried to gently let him down easy, however, he would not take, “Oh, Dear God, NO!” as an answer. He kept on “talking dirty to me.” I cringe even thinking about it. Gross.
I tried explaining my lack of interest and my yoking to my husband, Mr. Bear. He would hear nothing of it. I woke up in a cold sweat. I questioned whether or not it really happened. Frightening. I was relieved to find Mr. Bear lying next to me and Allie’s make-shift bed on our bedroom floor, with no trace of Brett.
I could blame Bret Michaels, but really, the real blame belongs to me. I am sure some dream analyst come give me some pretty good insight, or I could just cut back on the reality t.v. a bit. When you are literally eating, sleeping, and dreaming reality t.v., it might be time to put the remote down, no?