Oops, it's that time of the month...

No, not THAT time of the month. (That's still all frakked up, thanks for asking.) It's the time of the month where Casey over at Half As Good As You pesters us into logging our fitness & weight loss progress for club HASAY.

Here's where I'm at: the exercises and stretches that Trainer Lady is getting me to do are helping my effed-up back immensely. She's given me the green light to get back to working out, provided I stretch and roll all my muscles out on the Pool Noodle of Pain foam roller and make sure everything is in alignment and pray thricely to the Nautilus Gods and for the luvvapete, take it slow.

But I haven't. I'm doing the strength exercises she's given me, and that's about the extent of it. My back still feels...kind of twitchy. Like, Bobcat Goldwhaite twitchy. I'm terrified I'm going to eff it up again, just when I'm really starting to enjoy the novelty of having free movement and being able to bend down and pick something up without suddenly morphing into an 85-year-old.

Also, I'm lazy. I may have mentioned that. Once or twice.

But I feel awful and I'm tired all the time. The other day, it was pouring rain and my car was desperately in need of gas, because I wait until the gas light comes on like I'm a broke-ass 16 years old. My debit card wasn't working because they sent out these new 'chip' cards and naturally, I tossed the envelope on the kitchen table and forgot all about it and then the old one expired and yes, I know, sometimes I just fucking fail at life, okay? It's hard to be a grown-up.

Anyway. I had forty bucks in my wallet so I put forty in the tank, and went to pay, and the girl in her plexiglass booth said, "Um, you still owe me ten dollars."

Because in addition to failing at life, I also can't count. I only had THIRTY dollars. Awesome. Luckily for me, I was two blocks from home, so I jogged home through the freezing rain and then back again with my new stupid 'chip' card and paid her while she smirked.

The whole point of that little narrative is that after that short, teeny-tiny really, run, my legs were burning, and I was gasping. Hard to believe that 2 months ago I was running 4 kilometres on a regular basis.

Later that same day, as I sat on the couch with my muffin-top spilling over my jeans, encased in a bright orange shirt, my son toddled up and poked it. "Ball!" he exclaimed.

Okay, kid. I get the point.

The mosquitoes are trying to tell me something in their tiny, annoying voices. Like Fran Drescher tried, before I punched her in the throat.

Our summer has been so fucked up. All our lovely hot 30 degree* weather, which usually happens in July and August, is showing up NOW, long after everybody's gone back to school and taken their vacations from work. And where mosquitoes normally plague us in June and July, this year they're having an autumn feast.

After less than an hour in the garden yesterday, I came inside with 10 large welts. Seven of them were on my ASS.

What the fuck, mosquitoes? Is it that large of a target? No - wait - don't tell me - it's so big you got sucked into its gravitational pull?

Fucking mosquitoes.

I'm going to just assume that mosquitoes have great taste, because despite the fact that I've completely fallen off the exercise bandwagon, I still feel great, my clothes still fit (mostly) and I have a couple of fairly valid excuses as to why I'm watching said bandwagon disappear over the horizon.

Mostly, and I'll just get this out of the way right now, it's that I'm just a terrible human being who had four desserts today. But also, I had to stop running because I screwed up my back. Again.

Me and my back have a rather rocky history. It started when I was in university and I was doing a lot of pottery, and all the time spent hunched over the throwing wheel sent my (supposedly youthful and pliant) back muscles into spasm. I spent several months in physio, but it's been a bit of an albatross ever since, and it often derails my exercising efforts. One of the more memorable is pre-child, when I was playing squash daily with FoN, and while showering off after one game I innocently bent to pick up the shampoo. When I stood back up something went POP.

POP is a good sound when associated with kernels, or bubbles. Not spines. That unhappy incident introduced me to my chiropractor, with whom I am now on a first name basis.

(His name is Bill. In case you were wondering.)

So I wasn't kidding a month or so ago when I said that in order to go running, I needed to visit the chiropractor at least once a week. It was getting closer to twice a week, and it was getting kind of fucking pricey. And then it wasn't keeping the pain at bay, so I had to stop running.

I was still kind of enjoying running though**, so when I've done enough stretching and had enough visits to Bill, I keep trying again. And I then I'm reaching for the Aleve-Robaxacet cocktail, and voice-commanding my cel phone to "Call. Bill."

Anyway. I think I need to give up the marathon dream, and start looking at something that's a little more suited to my general personality. Low-impact and hippie-esh.

Yoga anyone?

*It's Celsius, I'm Canadian, just deal with it. It's about 86 F, plus.

**I know. I don't get it either.

Ain't nothin gonna break-a my stride

Wondering where the hell my HASAY updates have been for the past while? That's okay. I haven't given up. Our fearless leader has just taken the pressure off us a little by only demanding an update once a month. I know, I'd think she's getting soft too, but the leather whip and military gear say otherwise.

(Wondering what the hell HASAY even is? That's okay too. It's an online diet & fitness group spearheaded by the indomitable Casey at Half as Good as You.)

So. Update. Well, my last update was that I had started running (!) in an attempt to get into good enough shape to run a relay marathon (!!). The relay marathon seems to have fallen by the wayside, as it was led by FoN's Trainer Lady, who has apparently fallen off the face of the planet. We've sent out a search and rescue team, but it's not looking hopeful.

But I'm still running.

I run slow. I regularly choke on the dust as lithe 20-somethings pass me by, but I'm running. I'm not up to the distance I expected to be if I were still training for the marathon - I seem to have plateaued at about 4.5k - but, still. Did I mention I was running?

In order to facilitate this whole 'running' thing, because at the advanced age of 35 my body is now apparently made from eggshells overlaid with paper mache and dried flowers, this is what I have to do:

1. Hydrate. Hydrate. Keep hydrating. Preferably for up to 4 hours before actually considering running. This means I have to pee halfway through, every single time. Sometimes twice.

2. Stretch. Stretch. Stretch more. Stretch before running, after running, first thing in the morning, and before I go to bed at night. Oh! And if there happens to be a lull in activity at any other point in the day, you'd best be dropping to the floor and stretching.

3. Warm up. Walk to warm up for a ridiculous amount of time, like for long enough that any other normal person would consider it a pretty decent walk, they're good, they've exercised for the day.

4. End up visiting the chiropractor at least once a week anyway.

5. Possibly more stretching.

So, generally, I feel healthy, because I'm running every second day or so. Unfortunately I seem to have translated that into "eat whatever the hell I want because hey! I'm running aren't I?", so I've gained a few pounds. Okay, 6. But I don't really care.

I guess that's the "runner's high"?

Running through my head*

Okay. Make sure I warm up. I stretched. I hydrated. Don't eff it up now by not warming up.

Forgot my sunglasses.

"Running up the driveway doesn't count," haha, honey. I don't see YOU exercising.

Okay, really going now.

Running. Really, running? Wtf is wrong with me?

Maybe I should pretend something large and toothy is chasing me.

I wonder if I could drop kick that guy who is standing perilously close to the edge of the water without breaking stride?

Hey, this isn't so bad.

Hydrating is good, except now I have to pee. Running while having to pee? Not so good.

I wonder if I could drop kick that Canadian goose without breaking stride?

Still have to pee.

Stretching, hydrating, and warming up properly actually works! I feel like I could run forever! This is further than I've ever run before! This is great! This is - owowowowowowowow shin splint!

Well, fuck.

*Get it? Because it's about running? Right? Okay, fine, it wasn't funny. Shut up, I just went for a run. What did YOU do?

HASAY update, and some ducks

Today was supposed to be our first 'group run' (ie, 'find out how out of shape you really are') to kick off our training program for the relay marathon. However, it's been raining and close to freezing for 3 days, so it was called on account of wimpiness postponed until tomorrow.

(It's great weather, if you're a duck. Apparently the ducks got that memo, because when I got into my car this afternoon, this is what I saw:


Trust me, my lawn is not normally duck habitat.)

Anyway, I've still been hitting the treadmill and have added some cross-training courtesy of the new Wii game EA Active. It kicks Maya's butt - and mine - all over the place, and it's a lot more fun. So far the workouts lean heavily towards the leg/glute end of things, which is good, and also OW. Really, really OW. Jumping lunges? Jumping squats? Followed by more squats and oh! hey! Maybe some lunges?

I never thought I'd be begging for an ab exercise.

You're probably wondering when the 'fun' part comes in. The squats and lunges are not a party unto themselves, but they're sometimes disguised as games like inline skating, and mixed in with 'for fun' games like baseball that keep your heart rate up.

So, fitness is going well. And, uh, look! We're out of time, we can't talk about the food.

Move along, nothing to see here.

Run away! Run away!

Starting next Sunday, FoN's Trainer Lady has developed a 12-week training program for those of us participating in the relay marathon. It appears both challenging and completely fucking terrifying. All at once!

Each of us will run approximately 10k. (Except for the woman who claimed the 3k portion, the lucky lazy beyotch).

Right now, I can run - absolute maximum - for 12 minutes. On the TREADMILL, mind you.

I am so totally, royally, screwed.

Send booze.

Though I may be feeling a bit lightheaded

HASAY and detox/cleanse update: Okay, I'm cleansed. I'm good. Can I stop now?

Actually, up until Thursday I was feeling great. But I think I may have caught a bit of my son's stomach flu, so I'm feeling a bit rumbly and adding extra fibre and herbs to that seems unnecessarily masochistic, y'know? So I'm still eating the diet (organic fruits & veg, raw nuts, eggs, small portions of chicken & fish) but not taking the supplements. Hubby looks like he'll actually finish out the 2 weeks, I'm really proud of him.

And I'm now going to start logging my weight on more professional equipment. I found this at the mall. It says I've lost 11 lbs, so it's clearly a finely-tuned instrument.

just don't wish to be big

Plus, it gives you winning lottery numbers and super helpful advice for the day like, "Want to get rich quick? Invest in vending machines to rob suckers of their quarters!".

Obviously worth the trip to the mall and 25 cents!

Want an appetite suppressant? Try this (HASAY update)

We're on week 30 of HASAY. HASAY, in case you're just tuning in, is a bloggers weight-loss support group, masterminded by Casey. She runs the place with an iron fist. Nevermind that the iron fist is occasionally full of Cheetos.

So hubby and I are still doing our detox/cleanse, and amazingly sticking to it. He's regarding it as more of a temporary diet, I think, but is enormously supportive. It wouldn't do, as he says, to be eating Doritos and slugging back a Pepsi while your significant other is trying to subsist on organic salads and powdered fibre. It's just rude.

Plus, it might come back to bite you in the ass at some point. Ahem.

Anyway, my focus on my growling tummy sort of took back burner this weekend to my sick toddler. There is nothing quite like being repeatedly vomited on, worrying about whether you're going to have to pack the whole show off to the hospital for the love of Blog don't make me have to take him to the hospital, and then after you've just managed to do some vomit-covered laundry, you get hit with the second wave: diahrrea.

GOOD TIMES, people. Good times.

In addition to all the standing-and-rocking I've been doing, I managed to get in some yard work yesterday and some yoga prior to the Linda Blair impersonation. Not exactly aerobic, but I'm not providing my body a metric tonne of fuel right now, either.

The Wii Fit (after berating me) informed me that I'm down 3 lbs from my, um, fluffiest. I'm willing to bet that was just the contents of my colon. Hopefully I can flush a few more pounds out before I'm done.

Flush. Heh.

HASAY update: I've been rock rolled, which is not as cool as rick rolled

Ah, yes, HASAY. I was doing so well. Then, I hit an invisible wall of some sort, and now I'm a pathetic mime trying to find my way out. Or I'm whats-his-name, pushing the boulder up the hill in Hades, only now I've decided to just get it over with and let the damn rock squash me, because it's not THAT bad here in Hell, I can probably tune out the thirst and the country music, and at least I'll get to lay down for a little while.

I haven't started the cleanse yet, because the lady at the health food store said it was best to spend a week taking acidophilus (which I've totally been pronouncing wrong the whole time, THANKS FOR TELLING ME, guys) first. I'm doing that, and hubby volunteered himself to do the cleanse at the same time. We'll start Wednesday. It's nice that I'll have emotional backup, but you just know he's going to lose like, 20 lbs and look and feel great and I'll be lucky if I don't murder someone for their Skittles.

I need new running shoes in the worst way and I've been getting really painful shin splints any time I try to run or jump, so I haven't exactly been working out to the max, pushing the envelope, feeling the burn or any of those other good cliches. I'm hoping to remedy that this week too so I can get back on the gym track.

FoN said yesterday that her Trainer Lady is putting together a relay team for the city marathon, which is in September, and she needs one more person. Running a marathon is not something I expect or aim to achieve in my lifetime. Even a half marathon seems presumptuous on my part. But a piece of a marathon? That seems like an attainable goal, and Trainer Lady reassured FoN that we're not going to be the weak links on a team of lithe supermodels, it's just for the challenge and fun* of it. So, hopefully, once I get my shit back together, I can spend the summer working towards that. I think part of my problem was that once I 'gave up' on my weight goal, I kind of lost my motivation, so even if this particular relay team falls through I might seek out another or put one together myself.

I never used to trust people who ran; what the hell happened to me?

So the mind is willing, but the flesh is still weak. We'll see how it feels after two weeks of pooping out toxins.

*Isn't the English language fascinating? I mean, how one person can put the words 'marathon' and 'fun' together in a sentence without batting an eye and how another person would rather have their eyelids removed than equate the two? Yeah, enthralling.

The bacon probably isn't helping either

I promised I would 'fess up if I fell off the HASAY wagon, even though I decided to focus on being healthy rather than on pounds lost. So I kind of half fell off. Like, one leg dangling.

Easter kind of screwed me in the food front - quite a few cupcakes with butter cream icing and a chocolate bunny or two. But I was still working out, so I figured I'd be okay with a week of bad eating right?

I GAINED FOUR FUCKING POUNDS. In a week. That is not even remotely fair. Ya'll know how long it took me to lose four pounds - is it even physically possible that I got them back in 7 days?

Apparently it is, because they've stayed there all this week. I've tried to be good (hubby is off work which always messes with the healthy eating a little) and I've been working out like a maniac.

("Maybe you're pregnant already!" said FoN.

Yes. I'm 3 days pregnant, and I've gained 4 pounds. I'm really ahead of the curve, here.)

It's kind of frustrating to realize that despite the healthy role models I had growing up, the thousands of tasteless healthy meals and the many times my mother shoved us outdoors to play, the pattern that I'm going to end up following is the other one she showed me: my mother seemed to be chronically on a diet, continually trying to lose that last ten pounds. Constantly at war with food, even when - by all appearances - she was winning.

Anyway, I'm going to keep focusing on my workouts, because if I do manage to get pregnant I do NOT want to be as unhealthy as I was the first time around. That sucked. I want to be ready to run that marathon, ya'll.

Maybe the food thing will just fall into place, right?

Right? Guys?

Even though compliments make me itchy

This is where I would normally post a HASAY update, except last week I renounced my weight loss goal and decided to just focus on being fit and healthy.

This was also the week that I got the most comments & compliments regarding my appearance EVER.

Coincidence? I think not.

(While basking in the lavish praise, I managed to squeeze in two trips to the gym, two workouts with Maya, and a game of squash. So I'm keeping up with the plan.)

I hereby tender my sort-of temporary resignation

I give up.

Now, before you go sending the HASAY ninjas after me,

(pause to picture Casey in a ninja costume...okay, done)

hear me out.

I'm not giving up working out, and I'm not giving up eating healthily. I'm just giving up on my goal weight.

I'm tired of losing, gaining, and re-losing the same two frickin' pounds. I'm tired of stressing out about what the scale might say this week, and feeling frustrated because I'm not making any 'progress'.

Well, how's this for progress? My jeans fit now, even the ones that didn't fit well pre-pregnancy. I feel fitter and stronger than I have in years. I can try clothes on and look in the mirror and not think, "Oh...gah...well...maybe if I turn sideways and suck it in the whole time...". I am well-positioned to be one of the fit few who survive the zombie apocalypse.

So. Neener neener, goal weight. I don't need you. I was considering starting my own splinter group, like Michelle did, only calling it Twice As Fit As You. Except that sounds pretty braggy, and since Jen can run for like an hour straight, it's also a complete fucking lie.

So, no splinter group. I'll participate in Half As Small As You, I'll post my workouts and I'll totally fess up if I gain back any weight. I'll be a HASAY cheerwhoreleader. But for me, this is as hot as it gets.

(It's pretty hot though).

I love it when someone else tries to set a goal for me

Unbeknownst to me, my fantastic hubby has been searching for the elusive Wii Fit since, like, before Christmas. He finally found one that didn't require selling an organ to buy (although, I pointed out, he has TWO kidneys) and it arrived this week.

Despite the fact that it told him he is OBESE (he's not), hubby instantly dumped Maya the Fitness Coach for the Wii Fit. Because it's younger. And easier.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Anyway, the Wii Fit told me I was OBESE as well. I'm not. It also told me I should lose ten more pounds than I planned on losing. Um, the last time I weighed that little was in high school. And that was probably because I spent all my money on coffee and pot. I couldn't afford food.

Despite it's bad math skills, the Fit is pretty fun. I must be in good shape by now though because I don't find it to be much of a workout. So, even though she didn't help me lose any weight this week, I'll stick with Maya when I need a challenge.

At least until I can afford to dump her too replace her with a real human trainer.

(I hope she doesn't eat herself fat with all the rejection).

(Yes I do)

Pixels are out to get me

Okay, so I'm not very good at this whole starvation dieting thing. I'm still using Weight Watchers as a guide, but I keep falling off the wagon. You should see the bruises on my ass.

But the bacon diet must be working for me, because this week I lost another pound. It's slow, but I'm getting there, I swear.

I have to give SOME credit to my new personal trainer. Her name is Maya, and she lives in my TV.

Dontcha hate her?

I don't know what she does when I don't have the Wii turned on. My guess is she works out and thinks up evil plans for world domination through aerobics routines with an excessive amount of lunges and squats.

You know, like REAL personal trainers do.

I kind of liked her in the beginning, because her workouts seemed pretty easy, and when hubby saw how easy they were he figured he'd build his own profile. He found them kind of difficult, which made me feel just the teensiest bit smug.

Until Maya ramped it up, and handed me my ass on a platter in 30 minutes flat.


Anyway, I guess I'll keep meeting with her, because the price is right and I can feel like I actually DID something on those days I can't get to the gym. Plus, I have a bit of OCD when it comes to video games and now I'm going to unlock every last one of those workout locations and lame-ass musical selections if it fucking kills me.

Which it might. At the end of last session, Maya cheerily announced that the next workout would be my "fitness evaluation".

Wait, what? Nobody told me there was going to be a TEST.

"Ab of Steel" might be taken

I didn't do very well in the exercise & diet department this week, I was kind of a slacker. So naturally, when I weighed in today I had lost a pound, because I'd just eaten a huge pile of waffles and bacon* and THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE WHATSOEVER.

Most of this week I'd been feeling like I'd popped out a rib. Which I've done once before, when I was pregnant, and I have to say it's very uncomfortable. It didn't seem as painful as the first time, but I attributed that to the lack of largish-for-a-baby feet pushing on it from the inside.

Aaaannnnd apparently popping out a rib also causes you to eat like crap. Who knew?

Eventually, I figured out that yes, my ribcage is out of alignment and therefore feels weird, and here is why: I always carry my 30 lb toddler on one side. I do a lot of side bends and leaning over while carrying said toddler, and that has caused one half of my oblique abdominal muscles to become over developed.

Yes, that's right, I have ONE rock-hard ab.

Think I should make a fitness DVD?

*Side note: going to the gym while reeking of bacon is great entertainment value. Really, try it, and watch the entire lineup of people on the treadmills snap their heads around when you start to sweat.

SuperKeely vs. the Scale Monster in the Heavyweight Battle of the Century!

When we last left our beloved heroine SuperKeely, she was battling Malaise and was questioning her ability to lose weight fight crime! Despite all her badass moves, the supervillain teamup of SickToddler and StomachFlu were getting the best of her!

Can our heroine get back in the battle, feel the burn, and blast through her adversaries? Is there hope for the rest of us if even SuperKeely can't overcome this dire situation??

SuperKeely lowers her head and calls upon her Super Power of Stubborn. No lousy eight pounds crime wave is going to defeat her! She dispatches SickToddler with a roundhouse kick (no, not really guys) and talks StomachFlu into turning himself in. Some day, maybe he'll even work for the good guys.

After the battle, SuperKeely remembers her sensei's wise words and goes back into training, determined to rid her ass city of the looming shadow of fat crime. One day at a time, she tells herself, one day at a time. There is hope on the horizon in the form of a one pound loss.

And maybe one day, she'll fit back into her tights and fishnets.

(Not sure what the hell I'm talking about? Go check out HASAY)

(Not sure why I'm writing entirely in italics? Yeah, me neither)

I may even invest in a black leather trenchcoat

I kind of sucked in the HASAY department this week. The week started out really well, but went downhill. I ate out twice (would you like to know how many grams of fat are in a Mile High Mud Pie? No, you wouldn't) and then my son was sick all weekend and up all night so I couldn't make it to the gym. That means I haven't weighed in, which is probably a blessing. I've been running on goldfish crackers and enough caffeine to fell an elephant; I'm guessing it's not pretty.

But! Before it all went south FoN and I did get the opportunity to go to the karate class that we've been meaning to attend. It was actually billed as "Spirit Training", which was a source of great amusement, and we sort of assumed it was going to be a lot of humming. I'm happy to say we were wrong - it was a pretty good workout AND we got to learn how to get ourselves into trouble quite a few of the basic moves.

It was a nice small class and everyone seemed very welcoming and not at all prone to laughing at us. So, in the interest of multi-tasking and doing something to distract ourselves from all this fucking EXERCISING, we're going to try to show up regularly and actually *gasp* learn karate. (This might be a better fit for us than the martial art that Valentina wanted to learn, krav maga, which seems to be less about inclusion and balance and more about kicking your opponent in the throat while he's laying on the ground).

Plus, saying "I know karate" in a stupid Keanu Reeves voice? That NEVER gets old.

Move along, nothing to see here

HASAY update. I had a lame week. Literally. I pulled a muscle attempting a step aerobics class on Wednesday night so I whined a lot limped along through most of the weekend. That and the projectile vomiting from my son earlier in the week meant I only exercised three times. I wasn't too bad with the Weight Watchers, but obviously I have to be even MORE well-behaved, because when I stepped on the scale today there was zero change. Bah.

After the step aerobics class Wednesday night (which we will NOT being doing again, what with the injury and the total lack of coordination and the generally looking like flailing idiots), Paul tried to grab me for a hug.

"Ewwwwww don't touch me I'm GROSS," I wailed, squirming away.

"Fair enough," he replied, but I could tell his feelings were kind of hurt. I mean, I'm pretty sure he'd snuggle with me if I was cracked-out, had been lying in a sewage ditch for a week and had given birth as recently as five minutes ago. He doesn't care. But I felt gross after the workout, two-days-worth-of-grime-and-sweat-and-may-possibly-have-forgotten-to-brush-my-teeth gross, and that doesn't exactly lend itself to closeness.

"Tell me again, why I'm doing all this sweating and stinking and...and STARVING?" I lamented.

"Um...for your health?" he replied dubiously.

For my health, right. Isn't a large component of your health HAPPINESS? Because all these endorphins are nice and all, but you know what makes me happy? Really good food. Great wine. CHOCOLATE.

I'm having a hard time NOT getting hung up on the number on the scale. I feel stronger, I feel good about myself when I eat alfalfa sprouts, I want to maintain an active life so that I'll set a good example for my family. So that I'll be around for my family. And, kettlebell class aside, I'm having fun trying new things and working out with FoN (tomorrow we may try a hula hoop class. Because apparently we have learned nothing from our step aerobics experience, nothing). When we're not trying to kill each other at the gym united in this common cause, we usually only see each other once a week or less. So it's nice.

It's just frustrating to not SEE any progress. All I have to lose is eight pounds to put me at the top of the recommended weight range for my height. It's only eight fucking pounds, how hard can it be?

And if it's "only" eight pounds, why am I so bent out of shape about it?

HASAY update: Meh. And ow.

Hm, so, HASAY. Summary: I behaved, worked out (though not as enthusiastically as last week), and lost the two pounds I lost two weeks ago. Yeah. So - two steps backward, two steps forward? Or something.

I climbed back on the Weight Watchers bandwagon and after starving for the first two days, discovered that grandma was right the whole time: porridge really DOES stick to your colon ribs. So that helped. I did okay, though my "date dinner" with hubby on Thursday kind of screwed me. Lets just say there were three different kinds of chocolate, and hey, I'm an equal-opportunity kinda gal.

I hit the gym a few times and of course FoN, in her ongoing quest to find new and creative ways to try to kill me, signed us up for a "kettlebell" class on Wednesday night. A kettlebell, for those of you not in the know (which I wasn't, until Wednesday, and frankly I could have remained in the dark and been perfectly happy), is kind of like a bowling ball with a handle. Only it weighs about 15 lbs, and you spend 45 minutes flinging it around. Oh! And just for good measure there are plenty of lunges, squats, and pushups thrown in there as well. It works every single muscle you have and creates a few new ones to hurt, too. FoN had to dash to the bathroom halfway through because she thought she was going to puke, and I wasn't far behind.

For some reason she has expressed her desire to attend this class again. I've informed the proper authorities. As soon as she gets back from BC there should be a van waiting.

Also, ironically, someone named "kettlebell_fan" is now following me on Twitter.

Um, dude? I don't know if you actually read that tweet but I am NOT A FELLOW FAN.

The book of Exercis, Chapter 15, Verse 2

May the HASAY be with you
(And also with you).

On the first day, she did go out, and go to the gym, and it was good tolerable.

On the second day, she did go out, and go to the gym, and commend herself for her devotion, yet there was no burning bush, and no ray of light, save for that being sung on her iPod. And she was uninspired, and she despaired.

On the third day, she did go out, and join a group of mad people, and it was called Boot Camp. It was strenuous, and it did suck.

On the fourth day, she did rest,
if you can call a full day of work followed by toddler antics "rest"
because what kind of crazy person works out four days in a row?
because she was weary.

On the fifth day, she did worship at the altar of Nin Ten Do, and she did box her virtual enemies soundly.

And on the sixth and seventh days, she did string her racquet with the gut of a cat, and she did join in the feats of sport, and she did get her ass handed to her her best. And lo, whereupon she felt brave enough to try to conquer The Scale of Justice. But the Scale did defeat her.

By two pounds.

That's it. This religion sucks, I'm converting.