Wednesday, January 19, 2011

the essence of intimidation

Rugby. You gotta love it. I'm playing this spring, and we've started conditioning for the winter. Which wasn't so bad, til I found out I needed to be freakin' fitness certified to be able to join. I mean, I'm a runner and a swimmer AND I have a membership to the YMCA. You'd think they'd let me start lifting with the team. But nope.
To be truthful, I love sports. I love working out. The adrenaline, the sweat (gross, but it means you're really working hard), the surge of power you feel when you know you've really pushed yourself. But fitness centers are so...intimidating. See, the "fitness certification" course I've been enrolled in for the past five days took place in the school gym (not gymnasium where they play basketball...oh, I wish). A guy who looked exactly like him
went around telling us how to handle the machines and benches properly. Not bad. Until he made us actually use the machines and benches. For five days, our workouts involved:
  • 20 minutes of striding on the elliptical
  • 8 minutes of abs (basically just doing crunches for eight minutes straight....ahhhhh)
  • 16 reps of arm curls, arm extensions, leg curls, leg extensions, leg presses, pull-ups, dips, back extensions, ab crunches, lat pulls, rows, chest presses, and overhead presses. Each.
I wouldn't have minded it so much, if everyone in the gym hadn't been exercising like this:
Whereas my idea of working out is this:
So tranquil.
Anyway, expect the surprise (and horror) that dawned on me when I realized I was going to be sharing the gym with the Fitness Club from now on. Ughh. Not to mention, I can't feel a single muscle on my body right now. During dinner, I reached over to take the plate of carrot toss from my mom, and my legs hurt so much, I groaned. I was like "Mooooommm" and she was like "You shouldn't be reaching at the dinner table anyway," and proceeded to scold me on table manners. What a woman. And then I had to go to youth group. An unfortunate guy who I'll call "Mike" was sitting next to me on the floor, where we usually gather. I was enjoying his presence...until it was time to leave. Meaning, everyone was starting to stand up.
Me: I can't...feel my legs.
Mike: What? Why?
Me: Uhh. Twenty minutes on the elliptical. That's what.
Mike: Ouch.
Me: Help me up.
Mike: Okay.
Me: Ow OW OWW. Stop stop stop.
Mike: *giggle* Are you all right?
Me: No, fool. Help me get up again.
Mike: Okay.
Me: OW you jerk! Stop.
Mike: I'm not doing anything.
Me: You're pulling me up too hard!
Mike: You're ridiculous.
Me: It hurts!
Mike: I'm hardly even pulling you. Try to go slowly.
Me: What does it look like I'm doing?
Mike: Okay, ready? Sloooowly.
Me: Okay you aren't funny, big boy. Stop. It hurts a LOT.

Mike: Maybe you're out of shape.
Me: Maybe you should stop talking.
Mike: Why are you being such a baby??
Me: My quadriceps! My quadriceps!
I mean, I feel so great right now, but so utterly pathetic at the same time. And though I am now officially fitness certified (hold the applause) and don't have to attend that dreadful course anymore, it just means I'll be spending more time in the gym. Doing this:
Oh dear.
On the plus side, if this is what all rugby players look like,
it might not be so bad after all.

1/20/11 EDIT:
And I thought yesterday was bad. Today was the official start of rugby conditioning and lifting which consisted of a grueling 50-minute Indian run, followed by an hour and a half of bench pressing, curling, boxstepping, abs, and my favorite: rugby stunts! Fun, but very very draining.