I have a membership at the YMCA near my place here in DC. They have personal training available, and I've been thinking it might be a good idea to sign up for a few sessions, as lately I feel like I'm accomplishing nothing at the gym, and not making the most efficient use of my time there. They also offer this team fitness program, where you sign up to be on a team that meets twice a week for training with a "strength coach." Its only 15 bucks per session as opposed to about 120 for an hour with a personal trainer, and you're in a group with about 4 or 5 people total. Figuring that I really don't need someone to stand there and watch me do sets, and that I wouldn't mind sharing a trainer with a group of people, I signed up for this team thing and had my first trial session yesterday.
Oh My Heck.
I meet with the group and introduce myself and we're off. I met the coach, and as we're heading upstairs to the free weight room (which I've never been in because its scary and full of men who are grunting and sweating) he explains that the strategy is simple: Work every muscle group to failure. No sets, no increasing weight gradually, just start big and go until you absolutely can't go any further.
At first its great, because he assigns a weight/lift/exercise to each person (Yay! No requirement for me to think!), gives you whatever weight he recommends, and you go until you just can't. This was fine for like, one or two exercises. And I was feeling all great about myself because he's buffing my ego with things like "You've got really great form- do you lift a lot on your own? No? Oh, are you an athlete?" (clearly he's buttering me up because this is my free trial session) But after my entire upper body was dead, and he's like, "Humm, Okay, Gina- shoulder press- Go!" and I wanted to kick him in the nuts, it just stopped being fun.
It was the same story with lower body, which was great, until we were "done" and then moved onto lunges. I swear to God we did 110, and I could barely walk afterward. And the sweet part was ending the night with a nice long round of wall-sits. And then abs. I really don't think I'd ever worked my legs to failure before- I seriously thought I was going to fall over, my legs were shaking like I'd had a stroke.
The only time I've ever felt something similar was in my triathlon, when I got off the bike and tried to run, only to find that my legs were still trying to peddle. It was like the connection between my brain and my muscles was severed. Weird.
So naturally I've now signed on for the entire 13 week session. It was all I could do to utter "where do I sign up?" So I fill out the paperwork and only AFTER I pay, does he go into the whole schpeal about how its also expected that I will do at least 4 hours of cardio per week in the gym in addition to these two hours of team trainings. And that I need to log my cardio in the book with the rest of my team so they can make sure I'm sticking with it... (And I'm thinking... Buddy, this wasn't in the brochure...Oh, wait it was in the brochure, I just didn't read it.)
Me: "So, can I count swimming or jogging with my dog as cardio"
Him: "well, you can count it every once in a while, but we really prefer you to stick to the cardio schedule that we'll create for you, because we really target anaerobic cardio.... blah blah blah... so rather than say, jogging with your dog for 30 minutes, It would be better to break it in to interval workouts with wind sprints..."
Can you not just see Daphne and I sprinting across the National Mall?
So I guess I've signed on for quite the proram. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
A blog lightening round.... Go!
A couple of quickie updates then I'll send you back in the world knowing a little bit more about the silly things that have happened to me in the last week or so.
1) My 10 year high school reunion came and went two weeks ago. I was off frolicking in Nova Scotia at the time, and was unable to attend, but there were some photos posted so I was able to live vicariously through the experiences of others thanks to Snapfish. I was thrilled to see that one of the little pip-squeak kids who was in my Advisory (AKA: Homeroom) class turned out to be quite a looker after growing up. Good for him.
2) I now unequivocally accept that my neighbor is not, in fact, gay. I thought he was for a the longest time. I mean, his place is immaculate, he has a baby grand piano in his office (the same room that is packed full of bikes, computers, filing cabinets, sleeping bags, tool boxes etc in MY adjacent apartment) which he plays amazingly well, and he's just such a nice guy. Always willing to help, seems very sensitive and genuine without seeming creepy or sleazy. He is also a "personal friend" (he says) of my landlord, who is gay. They talk a lot, they hug each other hello... if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, I don't know, I just kind assumed he was gay too.
So this girl has started coming by his place every once in a while and often times she'll come over late at night. (I know this because then you ring the door bell for either of our apartments, you can hear it in the other's too, so we regularly open the door for one another on accident). It didn't strike me as odd, as he repeatedly introduced her to me as "This is Katie- we work together." Something about the "...we work together" added to the end of every sentence made it seem like, well, maybe they were just friends. And when I did think about it, I would come to the natural conclusion that it was none of my damned business, and I didn't really care which way his wind blew. So I continued along my merry path of "I have a lovely gay neighbor man." Until I got home from walking Daphne yesterday.
As I was fishing for my keys to unlock the (new and improved) deadbolts, I had this weird feeling that the upstairs neighbor was watching porn... I think I just assumed the sound was coming from upstairs because the upstairs neighbor guy (as opposed to this next door neighbor guy) does seem a little sleazy. But as I found my key (and the jangling sound stopped) I realized that the sound was in fact coming from the next door- which is approximately 12 inches from MY door.
It was Katie, in all of her splendor. And it was my neighbor (though Katie was certainly the more vocal of the two). They were "working" together alright. And it did NOT sound like this was his first time "working" with a woman. From the tone of her feedback, I'd say he knew what he was doing. It was ALARMING how clearly the sound of their "work" was resonating through the entire front entry way of our small apartment building. To be honest, it sounded like they were doin' it with the front door wide open.
Because I could hear them so well, I just assumed that they could hear ME just as well too (though on further reflection, I'm sure they were a bit too busy to be listening up for the random comings and goings of fellow building tenants). So I immediately was overcome with extreme embarrassment. My reaction was strange- I've had "noisy neighbors" before, and never had a big problem with it, but I didn't really know those people. These two? I feel like I know them. I feel like I walked in on two friends, and now I'm afraid that I'm going to trip over my words or just blush like crazy next time I see them.
Who am I kidding though- I'm actually just jealous. Good for them!
3) All this talk about Pluto being reclassified, and no longer being considered a planet got me thinking. What kind of criteria are there to be a planet? How might one submit an entry for consideration into this planetary status? And who the heck gets to make the final decision?? Are the people on this decision committee huge geeks? Totally cool science wizards? A little bit of both?? How much are school text book companies dancing in the street right now at the prospect that all elementary school science teachers are going to have to order new books for this school year? But my two key questions are:
Any help with these questions would be greatly appreciated.
1) My 10 year high school reunion came and went two weeks ago. I was off frolicking in Nova Scotia at the time, and was unable to attend, but there were some photos posted so I was able to live vicariously through the experiences of others thanks to Snapfish. I was thrilled to see that one of the little pip-squeak kids who was in my Advisory (AKA: Homeroom) class turned out to be quite a looker after growing up. Good for him.
2) I now unequivocally accept that my neighbor is not, in fact, gay. I thought he was for a the longest time. I mean, his place is immaculate, he has a baby grand piano in his office (the same room that is packed full of bikes, computers, filing cabinets, sleeping bags, tool boxes etc in MY adjacent apartment) which he plays amazingly well, and he's just such a nice guy. Always willing to help, seems very sensitive and genuine without seeming creepy or sleazy. He is also a "personal friend" (he says) of my landlord, who is gay. They talk a lot, they hug each other hello... if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, I don't know, I just kind assumed he was gay too.
So this girl has started coming by his place every once in a while and often times she'll come over late at night. (I know this because then you ring the door bell for either of our apartments, you can hear it in the other's too, so we regularly open the door for one another on accident). It didn't strike me as odd, as he repeatedly introduced her to me as "This is Katie- we work together." Something about the "...we work together" added to the end of every sentence made it seem like, well, maybe they were just friends. And when I did think about it, I would come to the natural conclusion that it was none of my damned business, and I didn't really care which way his wind blew. So I continued along my merry path of "I have a lovely gay neighbor man." Until I got home from walking Daphne yesterday.
As I was fishing for my keys to unlock the (new and improved) deadbolts, I had this weird feeling that the upstairs neighbor was watching porn... I think I just assumed the sound was coming from upstairs because the upstairs neighbor guy (as opposed to this next door neighbor guy) does seem a little sleazy. But as I found my key (and the jangling sound stopped) I realized that the sound was in fact coming from the next door- which is approximately 12 inches from MY door.
It was Katie, in all of her splendor. And it was my neighbor (though Katie was certainly the more vocal of the two). They were "working" together alright. And it did NOT sound like this was his first time "working" with a woman. From the tone of her feedback, I'd say he knew what he was doing. It was ALARMING how clearly the sound of their "work" was resonating through the entire front entry way of our small apartment building. To be honest, it sounded like they were doin' it with the front door wide open.
Because I could hear them so well, I just assumed that they could hear ME just as well too (though on further reflection, I'm sure they were a bit too busy to be listening up for the random comings and goings of fellow building tenants). So I immediately was overcome with extreme embarrassment. My reaction was strange- I've had "noisy neighbors" before, and never had a big problem with it, but I didn't really know those people. These two? I feel like I know them. I feel like I walked in on two friends, and now I'm afraid that I'm going to trip over my words or just blush like crazy next time I see them.
Who am I kidding though- I'm actually just jealous. Good for them!
3) All this talk about Pluto being reclassified, and no longer being considered a planet got me thinking. What kind of criteria are there to be a planet? How might one submit an entry for consideration into this planetary status? And who the heck gets to make the final decision?? Are the people on this decision committee huge geeks? Totally cool science wizards? A little bit of both?? How much are school text book companies dancing in the street right now at the prospect that all elementary school science teachers are going to have to order new books for this school year? But my two key questions are:
- How cool would it be to have a band named "Planetary Criterion"?
- Will calling Pluto a "Dwarf" as opposed to a "Little Planet" soon surface as a Planetary Rights violation?
Any help with these questions would be greatly appreciated.
Monday, August 14, 2006
An Update
Akk! The following post was written several days ago... I hit "save to draft" instead of "post" so... its just been hanging out, waiting to be read!
Behold... the hidden post of yesterweek:
Hi blog friends!
For a most interesting retelling of my experience at the Dixie Chicks concert last week with Lisaopolis, please visit her blog for a fabulous and (predominately) accurate account. I would have written my own entry, but figured that since SHE was the one who was ensandwiched by two drunk Mommy’s Gone Wild, SHE deserved to recount the evening…
Mom and Dad came down to visit for a quick stop in DC last Thursday before we all boarded the Amtrak to NYC, the embarkation port for our cruise(apalooza) to Canada last week. I refrained from taking photos, as between Lisa and Carnival Cruises (which offered copious amounts of photo ops with people dressed up as Mounties, fishermen, Nova Scotian pipers, pirates etc), I figured that all photographic needs were more than covered. Because of this, I have no photos to offer you (yet) of the actual cruise.
However… I do have photos from CSI Washington. Taken by my camera phone. By me. In my apartment. Which was the crime scene! Yeah, I came home to find that my apartment had been broken into while I was away. Coming home to find my place robbed really filled me with that not-so-fresh feeling of an uninvited stranger lurking through my things- which he/she/they clearly did. I suppose they were looking for computers, cash and jewelry, as they got two out of three from me (please... like I’D have cash laying around?? I’ve been so debit-card-only for the past 10+ years that I barely remember what currency looks like!) Once again, the idiots did not take the road bikes. (Did I mention that my mountain bike was ALSO stolen about a month ago?? The $300 mountain bike that was RIGHT next to thousands of dollars worth of road bikes? Idiots.) So two laptops and one wedding band later, (Shoot. So much for the bright idea of leaving it here, safely tucked in the back of my dresser drawer for “safe keeping” wile he’s in Iraq…) I am once again, dealing with my fabulous insurance company. And when I say fabulous, I’m actually not being sarcastic. USAA is the greatest. I highly recommend them to anyone who needs insurin’.
So thieves, in case you’re reading this, I’m going to lay it on pretty thick now:
Dear Thief:
Thank you for stealing my husband’s wedding band. I hope you have absolutely no clue that it is platinum and let some pawn shop owner suckers you into taking 50 bucks for it. Stupid jerk! I also hope that you appreciate that it was in my drawer (that you pilfered through) because he is in Iraq fighting terrorism AND evildoers AND people who hate freedom, wearing a cheap silver band now, figuring it would get banged up, or lost, or (possibly even) stolen while at WAAAAAARRRRRR.
Love and snuggles,
Ginapalooza
Okay, okay, I know the stuff about the evil-doers and freedom haters was bit much… but if ever there were a time to milk the “my husbands in Falluja” card, why not now?
So in the interest of multimedia, here are some pictures of CSI DC…
Exibit A: Trying to snag a quick photo while the officers were working… trying not to be too obvious about it… while sitting on my couch twiddling my thumbs, wondering what the heck one is supposed to DO while officers are dusting one's residence for fingerprints... Make small talk? Offer a drink? (answers: 1. Yes 2. No)
Exhibit B: My door with the fingerprint dust all over it. Please note my new dead-bolt that my landlord had installed already before I got home. (Yeah, not much good to get prints off a door that had been handled by the locksmith, but heck, at least they tried.)
Okay- that's all I've got for now.
Behold... the hidden post of yesterweek:
Hi blog friends!
For a most interesting retelling of my experience at the Dixie Chicks concert last week with Lisaopolis, please visit her blog for a fabulous and (predominately) accurate account. I would have written my own entry, but figured that since SHE was the one who was ensandwiched by two drunk Mommy’s Gone Wild, SHE deserved to recount the evening…
Mom and Dad came down to visit for a quick stop in DC last Thursday before we all boarded the Amtrak to NYC, the embarkation port for our cruise(apalooza) to Canada last week. I refrained from taking photos, as between Lisa and Carnival Cruises (which offered copious amounts of photo ops with people dressed up as Mounties, fishermen, Nova Scotian pipers, pirates etc), I figured that all photographic needs were more than covered. Because of this, I have no photos to offer you (yet) of the actual cruise.
However… I do have photos from CSI Washington. Taken by my camera phone. By me. In my apartment. Which was the crime scene! Yeah, I came home to find that my apartment had been broken into while I was away. Coming home to find my place robbed really filled me with that not-so-fresh feeling of an uninvited stranger lurking through my things- which he/she/they clearly did. I suppose they were looking for computers, cash and jewelry, as they got two out of three from me (please... like I’D have cash laying around?? I’ve been so debit-card-only for the past 10+ years that I barely remember what currency looks like!) Once again, the idiots did not take the road bikes. (Did I mention that my mountain bike was ALSO stolen about a month ago?? The $300 mountain bike that was RIGHT next to thousands of dollars worth of road bikes? Idiots.) So two laptops and one wedding band later, (Shoot. So much for the bright idea of leaving it here, safely tucked in the back of my dresser drawer for “safe keeping” wile he’s in Iraq…) I am once again, dealing with my fabulous insurance company. And when I say fabulous, I’m actually not being sarcastic. USAA is the greatest. I highly recommend them to anyone who needs insurin’.
So thieves, in case you’re reading this, I’m going to lay it on pretty thick now:
Dear Thief:
Thank you for stealing my husband’s wedding band. I hope you have absolutely no clue that it is platinum and let some pawn shop owner suckers you into taking 50 bucks for it. Stupid jerk! I also hope that you appreciate that it was in my drawer (that you pilfered through) because he is in Iraq fighting terrorism AND evildoers AND people who hate freedom, wearing a cheap silver band now, figuring it would get banged up, or lost, or (possibly even) stolen while at WAAAAAARRRRRR.
Love and snuggles,
Ginapalooza
Okay, okay, I know the stuff about the evil-doers and freedom haters was bit much… but if ever there were a time to milk the “my husbands in Falluja” card, why not now?
So in the interest of multimedia, here are some pictures of CSI DC…
Exibit A: Trying to snag a quick photo while the officers were working… trying not to be too obvious about it… while sitting on my couch twiddling my thumbs, wondering what the heck one is supposed to DO while officers are dusting one's residence for fingerprints... Make small talk? Offer a drink? (answers: 1. Yes 2. No)
Exhibit B: My door with the fingerprint dust all over it. Please note my new dead-bolt that my landlord had installed already before I got home. (Yeah, not much good to get prints off a door that had been handled by the locksmith, but heck, at least they tried.)
Okay- that's all I've got for now.
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