After weeks at the gym I’d finally worked up the courage to move beyond cardio machines. At first I was just proud enough that I’d parked myself on the treadmill for 30 minutes. Then came inclines. A little further down the road- resistance settings. Over time I’d even developed a grudging love/hate relationship with interval training and the ‘plateau’ setting on the elliptical trainer. Plateau being code for ‘leave B. too sore to move’. But for some asinine reason last week I decided it was time to up the ante. Still, I had my rules. No weights… I’m accident prone. No spinning classes… moving parts make me nervous. Nothing involving the words hip-hop, step, racket, gauntlet, water, or machinery… and most certainly nothing requiring equipment named after greek sailors. No. Thank. You.

So this was exactly what I explained to the personal trainer this afternoon when we met for my complimentary one-hour assessment. I was actually pretty smug, figuring I’d stumped him and before I knew it I’d be back in my cardio comfort zone. Instead he smiled and told me in stilted english he had just the thing. To give him ‘five minuten’ and when he returned we would “fight the force” together… I wasn’t sure what he meant by this, but I figured if he came back with a couple of lightsabers we’d be doing jedi drills for the next hour, and that was a-ok with me.

Instead he returned with a big white rubber ball and I quickly learned that “fighting the force” was like the worst level of resistance training I’d ever experienced on the elliptical trainer… on crack. Turns out a simple little ball can be used for all sorts of unimaginable torture. I crunched on the ball. I did pelvic thrusts with my legs on the ball. I balanced opposite arms/legs using the ball as my center of gravity. I hopped on the ball… ok, that part was kind of fun, but still. I held the ball out in front of me- pulled it in, shoved out, made little circles… all while humming the theme from A Chorus Line (one singular sensation… ev-verrr-y move that he makes….)

In the end what did me in was ball-squatting. Which, as I’m typing this, sounds like some new, insidious form of teabagging, but I digress. Ball squats are fairly simple. You stand- back to the wall, ball between back and wall, and squat down slowly until your ass is several inches below your knees. As if this wasn’t bad enough- my friendly trainer decided to stand in front of me with his hands on my shoulders and push down each time I tried to come back up post-squat.

Somehow… and I’m not sure how… he even managed to finagle a promise from me that I’d buy an exercise ball and do at least 30 reps of each thing at home 4-6 times/week. Clearly I’m an oscar-worthy actor if he even halfway believed I meant it. Fuck that noise.

Before today the worst experience I’d ever had with balls was 6th grade gym class at Lamar Jr. High. I’d promised that I would go to the valentine’s day dance with Brian Prescott. But that was before I knew Nicholas Rafferty liked-liked me. I ended up dumping Brian four days before the dance, and there he was with all his friends, smiling as Coach Turner announced we’d be playing dodge ball for the rest of the week. Let me tell you… karma was a true bitch that week.

I guess the lesson here is… be content with what you’ve got. Don’t push for more. You don’t always have to double-down when the house is showing a five. Just as you don’t have to punish your body a lot because punishing it a little has finally become bearable. Relax. Chill, and realize that sometimes discretion really is the better part of valor.

That said, I’m going to go take about fourteen advil (even my teeth are sore), curl up in a fetal position and sob uncontrollably for the next few hours. Nite everyone…

On this day..

• Ho-Hum. - 2006
• Freshman 16. - 2006