Pretty in Pink

I woke up actually not in pain for a change:  I opened my eyes and it was like birds were singing everywhere, the sun beaming over the horizon (or would be, since it wasn't up at 4:30am,) all was right with the world.

After scarfing my eggs & spinach breakfast, watching the DVR of Kaya & Sadie (you girls so rock!) on AGT, slurping back 4 cups of scalding green tea, showering and getting ready, I had 30 minutes before going to work with Paul.  I decided to practice dancing instead of icing.  I was so surprised how much looser I am.  I got more confident and let my arms move in an extended range of motion: no tweaking!  WOW!  I was clearly on a serious Karma high today!

Off to the gym, totally feeling the universal rhythm, zoning with Allman Brothers AFE.   I walked in, smiling and then all the 6:30 gym class participants all looked up at me.  This was new.

a predator should not be pink

  Paul was on the floor rolling the Lacrosse Ball under his calf,  leading the class.  He smiled, "Hey, did you notice anything new?"  I said, no, without looking around since that smile of his meant some sort of S & M bondage gear/machine had probably just been installed, and I didn't want to see it and lose my confident mood.

He said, we got a prowler just for you, ha ha ha.  I glanced at the stack of prowlers.  Sure enough, there was a Pepto Pink one (Pepto as in that prowler might look cute, but it probably weighs a nauseating ton.)

I got on the rower determined to knock it out before Paul could come over to yell, "Catch! Drive! Finish!" at me. He can sense when I go languid and uncoordinated.

We did lunges of all forms.  That's not a royal "we" - he does them too, although munching on a breakfast snack at the same time.  I won't rat him out by revealing that it was some sort of breakfast pastry for which he would have made me drag the wheels to Canada if he caught me eating it.

Then Paul said, you're going to do some squats! Notice: singular form.  I thought, um, ok!  But then he led me over to the frame that holds the bars.  Uh, oh.  Squats with a weight bar.  The fizzy weakness that swept through me reducing my knees to Styrofoam is pretty much the same as Stage Fright.

I put on the PF and actually tried to pay attention to what he was instructing.  He put the Barbie bar on first.  I got into the squat prep position, rolling the bar up on my neck until I could barely breathe.  I stood up.  Crikey!  The bar wasn't that heavy!  I stepped back and then did the deep squat.   Paul had thoughtfully placed a square wooden nugget behind me that I had to touch with my butt before standing up.  I stood back up, with Paul making suggestions like, "Back on your Heels! Lower! Explode up! I actually listen, but I can only absorb with the "up" part for now.

HA!

I did a couple squats; I must have looked too pleased.  His eyes narrowed.  He went and got the Ken bar.  "This bar," he noted, "weighs 45 pounds."  I narrowed my eyes back and said, "I can do it."

And I did!

His eyes narrowed more.  And he added some weights.

I narrowed my eyes also (but possibly this was a bluff.)  He said, "This bar weighs more now so mentally prepare yourself."  (BTW I think it is better to not say stuff like that.  Thinking obviously messes me up.)

I got the bar on my chest, rearranging my hand and feet positions, tightening my abs so much I am sure the food in my stomach stood out like braille across my belly.  And I stood up.  And squatted.  And stood back up.  Several times!

As a reward, Paul, eyes narrowed a la Clint Eastwood, removed the Ken bar and went for a large leather-padded yoke that looked like something you might see on 2,000 pound oxen.  My entire molecular structure watched anxiously while he set it up.  He explained how to duck under it, rest the bar on my upper back shoulder area, holding on with my hands.  I shuffled my feet around trying to find where I would feel secure, like Charleston, South Carolina, took a deep breath and got into the frame.  And stood up.

• My first thought was, "I am actually standing up."
• My second thought was, "I feel like a farm animal."
• My third thought was, "If I squat with this, I will sink through the floor to China."

I squatted - and would have fallen over if Paul hadn't hooked his pinky finger under the bar to help me up.  He frowned and then sent me off to get a few red stretchy cords which he threaded around the yoke.  After a few more struggling reps, I got the hang of the motion and was able to do 12 in a row although massively assisted by the stretch-bands which I suspect removed a lot of the 65 pounds at the bottom of the squat.

On the Plus side:  My shoulder held up and didn't tweak once! 

On the Huh side:  I'm Still the Gym Weeny;  Paul reminded me to wear my pink leg warmers on Monday to push the pink prowler.