I made it back to the gym. It is late February, so it is safe to go now, just in case you were wondering. All of the "New Year's Resolution" crackheads have given up and left the treadmills, so now you can actually go to the gym, see familiar faces and find a machine to work on. So I thought "I actually work out on a regular basis why not try my husband's new p90X video". I am in shape, relatively speaking. So I popped in the "Ab Crusher 3000X" or something like that. It sounded intense, and that is what I was looking for....afterall, I will be getting in a swimsuit in a few months. So, I get my recommended equipment (which was a mat and water....how bad can this be, right??). The "warning" comes on. Not the "Reproduction of this is a violation of copyright laws resulting in ridiculous fines and possibly your ass in the clink..blah, blah, blah..." This was more of "WARNING: If you think you will actually be alive at the end of this video, you are sorely mistaken. Have someone else in the room with you to turn off the DVD when you are done, because you will most likely be dead." Of course, I fast-forwarded through the warning, because work-out warnings are meant for 90 year olds, people wearing their heart in a sling outside their body, and those unfortunate soles without arms and legs. Lucky me, I am not in any of those categories. Afterall, I have mastered all three levels of Jillian's 30-Day Shred. I could almost TEACH a class I am so shredded (my definitions are very loose here, and not at all meant in a self-congratulatory way...if you saw me in a swimsuit you would probably think that I sat on the couch with ice cream and cheered Jillian on through all of her levels) I have an over-inflated confidence in my exercising abilities...something I clearly blame Jillian for, and if she did not frighten me from her mere one-dimensional image on my DVD, I might consider suing her. Anyway, the nice man explains that if you keep up with him throughout the entire 17.5 minutes (that's it??...cake-walk) You will have done 365 sit-ups. That is like doing one sit up everyday for a year. How hard can that be? Bring it.
Then he begins. We start out with something called bicycles. Pretty self-explanatory, and easy enough. Then he wants us to do backwards bicycles. No problem, except that I have been gifted with extreme malfunctioning genes when it comes to coordination. My muscles are still fairing well, but my brain hurts because my legs will NOT do what the brain is saying. I physically CANNOT do backwards bicycle...it is like the "pat your head, rub your tummy" drill. I am dumbfounded and frustrated. I have always known that I lack coordination, but now I have this video further solidifying my mediocrity. So I am thankful when we move on. The perky, ripped and tan background people are killing these exercises and making them look easy. We are three minutes in and I am, well...starting to feel the fatigue. We move into some crazy deal where you lay flat on the ground, put your arms up in the air, bend all the way forward, touch your toes, and then as you are slowly rolling backwards, lift your straight legs up until they are totally vertical and then lift your butt off the ground. HUH?? As quickly as he explains it, they are already 3 reps in and I am still trying to figure out what the dude wants us to do. I try to execute my version of what I THINK he said, and I am pretty sure I look like a seal that has just fallen out of his tank at the zoo and is desperately trying to get back in. My preschooler and her friend are sitting in the kitchen behind me - apparently coloring. Then I hear "Mom, that is not what they are doing." I grunt out "I know baby, mommy is trying her best." Thankfully we move on. Unthankfully, I am starting to lose all feeling in my lower extremeties. We are half-way done. My brain is numb. The warning said NOTHING about needing brain cells and coordination for this. I can count to 25 while exercising. Anything more than that is overkill..including breathing. You know when the video people say "Don't forget to breathe" and you are thinking to yourself "No shit, who would forget to breathe?!" Well...frankly...me. I am that person. Anyway, we move to this exercise where you grab your straightened, elevated leg at different intervals. I see my leg, I just can't feel it. I am sweating. My abs are screaming. My butt is tingling. I am grabbing onto my leg now, not because that is what Mr. 6-pack says, but becasue if I let go, I will slam to the floor with enough force to knock me unconscious...and for a minute, that does not sound like a bad option. We have moved on. He says to take a break if we need it. The room is fuzzy. I reach around blindly for my water bottle. Dizzy. Parched. Sweaty. I faintly hear "mommy, your water bottle is on the counter, do you want it?" I mumble something like "thasKJDASdnjd" and her friend says, concerned "You'd better get it for her..." I am scaring the children now. I try to muster up what strength I have left, and finish like a champ. I have internal bleeding. I figure that this is what they do to prisoners at Gitmo...no wonder they are considering shutting 'er down. This is lethal. Mr Rip-Torn has moved to laying on his back, legs in the air spread eagle. If I had enough energy at that point, I would have made fun of his milky-white man thighs and the very unattractive camera angle, but who am I to judge. I have lost all felling below my clavicle. He can still move. I cannot breathe, feel my hands, feet or arms, and I am pretty sure that I have soiled myself at this point. I make the executive decision to skip that exercise because A) I can't imagine having the strength to move into that position and B) when my 5 year old calls 911, that is NOT the position I want to be rescued in. I try to channel my inner rock-star and finish strong. He is sitting on the floor, legs pulled in and elevated. Now he starts wildly twisting side to side, and touching the floor adjacent to him with each twist. I start. 1..2..3..4...Holy Hell....I fall over from exhaustion and vertigo. I get back up, 9...10...11. I make it all the way to 20, and then I hear the ringing in my ears. It is the sweet, sweet sound of angels. They are coming for me. Nope, damn...it is the phone. "HI Daddy. I am coloring and mommy is lying down." Ok....I move with lightning quick agility and speed (ok...this was what I WANTED my body to do when in actuality I think I just slumped over to the other side). And before I can intervene, she says "Ok Daddy. Love you." "Mommy, daddy wants you to call him when you wake up." WTF. Ok, in her defense I was laying down. But it was because I was dying from just shredding my abs into a bleeding mess. I call his office back right away to explain that I was NOT napping. Voicemail, of course. I turn off the Nightmare On Ab Street. I hurt...everywhere. I sneezed and I cried. I cried more and I cried. I soiled myself. I can't talk, laugh or digest food without hurting. If I don't wake up tomorrow with a totally ripped 6 pack, I am taking sandpaper to my husband's beloved DVD. And I was so exhausted when he came home, I didn't even have a comeback when he asked "How was your nap today?"