Invincible. And I Got Back.

Sometimes I think I am superwoman. Like the time I ate all that frosting then tried to run? I do stupid things thinking there will be no consequence. Then I get surprised when things don't turn out the way I planned.

So today I slept in. I did something in the past few days that has been causing my hamstrings and inner thighs to scream bloody murder. Constantly. I think it might have been the fact that I taught step classes 2 days in a row, and on the second day also taught a bodysculpt class where I felt the need to turn everyone's legs into rubber bands. Or at least my own. So yesterday when I stumbled into the gym at 5am in my sleep deprived stupor and found my way over to the leg press machine, I was actually surprised to find that my legs were dangerously close to collapsing at about the 6th rep of my first set.

So I gave in, because I'm all about listening to my body, and spent the remainder of the lonely predawn hour until the center opened trying to make my brain bigger on face book. I didn't have to teach any classes yesterday, which, despite making me feel like a sloth, was probably a good thing for my aching legs. But then, my amazingly retarded brain thought it was a good idea to keep with my scheduled cardio session of 20 minutes of high intensity intervals on the treadmill. Don't ask me to explain it. But somehow it made sense to run ridiculously fast for half of 20 minutes on tired aching sore legs. But I got sidetracked when I got home from work and ended up unable to do this until 7:45pm. But of course, even that late into the evening, running my ass off on a treadmill until I saw stars still seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

So onto the treadmill I go. I'm not exactly tall and my legs are quite stubby. So for me, high intensity means intervals running at 8.5-9.5mph. For me, this is fast. At 20 minutes, I actually didn't feel like I was quite dead enough yet so I pushed myself to 23 minutes. Finally satisfied with my proximity to puking my brains out, I stopped the madness and went on with my evening.

Like a moron I planned to go to work early this morning to finish my leg workout that I had dropped yesterday. When the alarm went off at 4:20am I flexed my leg, felt the pain, and reset the alarm to 5:20 without ever taking my head off the pillow. Sometimes the brain works like a normal human being's. Sometimes.

So I taught a 45-minute Step Class From Hell and then caked my hamstrings with Icy Hot, thinking the poor guys could finally get a little rest.

Enter LPP.

LPP is probably one of the most adorable and nicest people who works for the company whose fitness center I work in. He's also an amazing dancer, but that's another story. He's on the company's rowing team. Part of their "homework" to ensure a winning season is to complete 2 2000-meter rows on the indoor rowing machines per week. At least I think it's 2. Either way, he was there to do his. His personal goal set for him by the team workout expert was 7:45. Being the awesome friend that I am, I set the more prestigious goal of "Under 7:30" and told him I would personally cheer him on while he rowed. He didn't look as thrilled about that as I'm sure he felt but I shooed him into the locker room to go change since my work day was nearing its end.

Some time between him leaving my desk and him starting to row, I got it in my head that I'd do the 2000 meters with him. Although I have a master's degree in exercise science and plenty of experience in fitness centers and gyms, I have never actually rowed on a rowing machine. So LPP strapped me in, gave me a couple of pointers, set up the timer for 2km, detached his iPod, declaring that I would be enough entertainment for him, and sat on his rower next to me.

We took off. Two cycles? rows? seconds? into it I let out my first "Are we there yet?" This is much tougher than it looks. I felt like I was singlehandedly pulling an entire fleet of the Volga Boat Men. Each of whom was carrying 4 elephants on his shoulders. While sitting on the boat, which was sitting in gravel. But I persevered. 8 minutes, 49.2 seconds later I was sitting on my rower, panting away like a dog in the Sahara. My entire shirt was soaked. My head was throbbing. My back felt as if there was a razor the size of a briefcase sticking out from between my shoulder blades. LPP (who finished in 7:31) had a vein sticking out of his forehead so far that it looked downright vericose and I secretly wondered if we had any Coumadin in the First Aid box.

I actually seriously debated quitting after the first 500m but there's no way in hell I would actually stand people knowing that I did that. The bright side was that I conferred with another member of the rowing team who convinced me that my time was not only good for a girl in general, but also pretty impressive for someone who had never rowed before in her life. Not necessarily as compared to competitive rowers, but the average population, I guess. That almost makes up for the next 5 hours of my life.

Fast forward to 3 hours later. I'm sitting at home guzzling water and wondering why the skin on my forehead feels like it's going to pop off and molten lava is going to ooze out from the resulting hole, as well as from my eyes and ears. I don't know why I'm so shocked that after all the crap I've put my body through the past few days, I wouldn't feel 100% wonderful after putting everything I had into almost 9 minutes of intense exercise on a machine I'd never done before. But I am. The weird thing is that I almost feel like I need to do something else tonight. Like go for a quick run on the treadmill or put in a yoga dvd or something.

I think there's something wrong with me.

I should maybe see someone to help rid myself of these masochistic tendencies.

Anyway, since you suffered through all that, I'll treat you to another (quick- I promise) work story that I personally find quite amusing.

So I'm sitting there this morning, flirting discussing very important fitness theories with a good friend (a guy) who works out in the fitness center. In walks another friend, who I always appreciate for changing the television station from ESPN (stupid Blank Stare and his stupid world of sports) to Regis and Kelly, even though he hates Kelly. Today, he was too late to help me and I was forced all morning to listen to everyone talk about Brett Favre being sold or bartered or whored out, or whatever they call it, to the Jets.

So of course as soon as he walks in, I completely ignore whatever my first friend was saying and yell at this guy for coming in too late, proclaiming that he is completely useless to me. All in good fun, of course.

He approaches me and my friend (and as far as I know, they don't know each other except for seeing the other in the gym on occasion) and says "Well what prevented you from getting up off of that fine little ass of yours and changing the channel yourself?"

I didn't react to his comment except to say something I'm sure was completely brilliant and witty about why I didn't, and he moved on to the locker room to change. A moment later, my first friend turned to me and said "Did that guy just say that fine little ass of yours?"

I'm not easily offended, no matter what the shape or condition of my ass. You can pretty much say whatever to me. But keep in mind that this is a corporate fitness center. This guy could have gotten into a lot of trouble for saying that if the wrong person heard him. Yet he was bold enough to say it in front of my friend, who could have very well been the head of Human Resources for the company.

Funny.

Ok maybe not freakin hysterical, but my ass got its props so I have to share.