Teen TRX and Moaners at the Gym

We signed my 16 year old up for TRX this summer.

It was a class offered at our gym and is exclusively for teens.  It meets Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays in the afternoons.

I figured this would serve a couple purposes.  First,  it would get him out of the stink chair he has claimed in front of the  XBOX.

Second,  I thought it would keep him in shape over the summer.  For those of you who have done TRX workouts know they can about kill you if you let them.

Here is an overview video of TRX.  These bitches ladies make it look crazy easy.    It's hard freaking work.

As I was looking for a video to share with you, I found several videos from Mr. Universe, 2009, who does some uber sick moves with the TRX straps to make him look like the Incredible Hulk.

I personally do not find this look attractive.  Personally, I like men who are subtlety muscled.  The ripped look makes me think "seedy" and "oily."   But if you look up "Mr. Universe 2009 TRX," on YouTube, you can see what this workout will make of you if you take it to the extreme.

Today when I dropped him off at TRX, I decided to stay.

I hadn't exercised today and my dinner last night of hushpuppies, chicken nuggets and shame still sat in my belly from last night.

Oh yea, as well as my lunch from Taco Hell, which BY THE WAY which still rumbled like a thundercloud, releasing gaseous waste products that begged to be expelled from my ass.

Not the best idea to go to the gym and get on the treadmill.

I hopped on the treadmill with the best of intentions and since the cardio room was practically empty, I burped and eek out a couple of unladylike farts.  

I was feeling miserable, but I had an entire 50 minutes to kill while Cal was in class, and there was NO WAY I was getting in my car and going home.  Three miles was my goal.  But I was starting to get a stomach ache, and I was starting to feel like there was something more substantive coming behind the toots.

Then a groaner hopped on the treadmill next to me.  I looked around the room and there were NO MORE machines being used.  She got on the one DIRECTLY next to me.  WHY?  Seriously?  I know there are urinal rules;  shouldn't there be treadmill rules too?

The treadmill next to me was a crappy one.  Perhaps she wanted to watch the show on the television in front of it.  I don't know.  What I DID know was that she was in my space and HER weird noises were rudely moving in on MY weird noises.

She was cramping my style.

And I was having serious issues.  I was at about 1.25 and I was hurting, yo.

My shirt was riding up.  I had a wedgie.  I couldn't hold my belly in like I usually do to give the illusion a smaller waistline.

No.

Everything was hanging out and I didn't have the wear-withall to hold myself together.  And she was directly next to me, moaning...and one time said "Oh, YEAAAAAA."

What the frick was this?  The honeymoon  suite?

A mile an a half was all I could take.  I pushed the emergency stop, gathered my belongings and hustled quickly to the elevator.

Yes, my gym has an elevator.  AND stairs.  But I would have to walk past the front desk to get to the stairs.  And there was a desperate look to me.

I took the elevator up to the more private bathrooms which were, mercifully, unoccupied.

I gathered my belongings again, took the elevator back down ~ feeling like a NEW WOMAN, I cannot lie ~ and dropped my belongings next to the moaner.  I hopped back on and did another 1.5....which met my goal of 3 miles.

It was a rough 3 miles.  A little painful.  I won't eat pintos and cheese and a burrito supreme again before I try to jog again, I think.

Just a little life lesson that I will file away for a rainy day.

Bite Me and Anal Explosions

I am going to forgo my morning venture out today.

I don't need much of a reason to skip my jogs, but today's excuse is legitimate and stems from the fact that I have visited the bathroom on three separate occasions in about one hour. All visits begin with a sense of puckering urgency and end in me screaming at Chris.

"Watch the baby," I shriek, panicked and doubled-over, as I careen into the master bath.

I hope she gives him hell because I'm pretty certain that this issue is directly caused by his suggestion to buy cheap boxed wine last night to go along with the insipid "Fast and Furious" DVD we watched.

I can't think of a worse situation on a jog than an impending bowel emergency. Really. Although, as I think about it, there would be plenty of places to hide in our immediate neighborhood if the urgency became such that I needed to do something about it.

But...the baby in the gigantic stroller would cause a discretionary problem and I think, if push came to shove, I don't know if I could put my bare ass so close to the ground in Florida.

I am a regular viewer of "Bite Me with Dr. Mike" on the Travel Channel and his recent episode on Florida made me view sewers in a completely different light. There are so many things that could kill or maim you here. And let's face it, if one pulls down her pants and exposes her bare ass to the creepy crawlies on the ground, she is basically begging for it ~ exposing a great, big, irresitable target for all that is deadly and stings in central Florida.

(Bite Me is, by the way, a fantastic if you want to be completely freaked out by anywhere you would like to vacation and want to see a grown man with his pants around his ankles [conspicuously missing underwear] trying to crap out a kazillion foot long tapeworm from a pill he swallowed in a third-world country.)

Actually, there is no good place to have an "anal explosion" as Chris calls them. This happened a lot to me when I was younger, and I probably could have been diagnosed with IBS if such a thing existed 25-30 years ago.

Any new or different situation would cause diahhrea for me, perhaps because I was a very, very nervous child. Early memories for me are of those in the bathroom, crying with stomach cramps, most notably leading up to (including the morning of) the first day of school. This occurred every single year until, I believe, I graduated from high school.

The fact that I suffered nervous craps every year before school makes the idea that my two children, who just started brand new schools this fall, produced neither a tear nor a foul smell from their butts at any point leading up to their first days. This is profoundly, deeply impressive to me. I would have been a train wreck, crying and sick every day through at LEAST the first week.

So, alas, I'm sitting today out.

I have some Bravo programming to catch up on and some toilets to clean.