Today I want to talk a little about dying. Not the serious kind of dying where people cry. No, this is more about the kind of dying you wish on yourself for doing something you shouldn't have done. I'm not talking about saying nasty things about others and getting caught. It's not the dying you experience when you walk out of the bathroom with your skirt tucked up in your nylons so the whole office can clearly see how you feel about going commando.
I've only felt this sort of death wish one other time in my life. Back in the spring, anxious to prove that I am young and in shape, I nodded excitedly when Sarah asked me if I wanted to try the Cardio Box class after Yoga. There is not an ounce of shame in my writing when I say that it was a one night stand. I felt like I knew what CB was all about. I pictured myself doing some really awesome Tae-bo moves. I was gonna get all Billy Blanks circa 2001 up in that place! I was prepared to bounce, kick, punch my way to fitness.
I was not prepared to be yelled at and brutalized. My bad.
You see, dear readers... Cardio Box is not like Tae-bo at all. It is a series of timed stations where you are required to torture yourself like a medieval monk by cracking your knees into a solid gym floor while you do mountain climbers with slippery furniture moving pads under your toes, jumping in a bent position over stacked aerobic steps, & do various other step combination jumping jack/push-up/vaults, in between running laps. While all this is happening, you are yelled at to "GET YOUR ASS DOWN". It was funny the first time because I felt like I was in a war movie and maybe Tom Hanks would run through and grab me and run me to safety. "I can't leave Angieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Tom never came.
About two days later,
when I came to when I got out of bed, my body very plainly said to me, "You know what, Angie? F*ck off. Don't talk to me. Don't touch me. Just leave me in the bed you stupid (this is bleeped out for the sake of my non-adult rating)." I felt like I might die, or at the very least lose a limb. Part of me had gone a little numb (thank God that didn't last), and the rest of me felt like I'd been strapped to the rack and stretched to the point of breaking. I soldiered on and promised myself I would never go to a class without first poking my head in to watch a few minutes on an earlier occasion.
Remember last week when I said my sister is getting married? Well, on Saturday I plan to wear a dress that is fitted, sexy, and while it's black... it is not forgiving of all figure flaws. Sometimes a girl has to be careful to know where that line is between sexy fitted and Mariah Carey refusing to wear a single article of clothing that can cover both her tatas and her cooch at the same time.
Last week when I tried on my options, I decided that on top of the 12 hour work days I would be keeping a strict exercise schedule. I upped my cardio a smidge and threw in some additional toning. I raised the bar and despite the grinding noise in my knee, I threw in squats and lunges.
At about 2 AM this morning, it became painfully obvious that I should go ahead and just die. It started with a sharp pain in my abdomen like a muscle cramp that only seemed to occur when I tried to stretch out. This was followed by both of my calves turning to stone and my toes curling into knots. It continued off and on for a few hours, until it was time to get out of bed.
I knew better and I went ahead and kicked my own ass anyway. All in all it's made me a bit stabby today. The pain in my abs has thankfully subsided for the time being and the muscle cramps in my calves are under control. It has all taken the liberty of settling right between my shoulder blades and has sapped every ounce of energy I have (natural and Monster lo-carb). I've decided to put off my imminent death until I'm done at work for the day, but please make a note that in lieu of flowers, I'd like male strippers sent to the funeral home.