I have a friend who, having started an exercise regime a
couple years ago, is in love with her new-found muscles.
“Here,” she grunts, pushing her belly forward, “Punch me. Feel those muscles. Go ahead. Punch me.”
Who can pass up such a situation? Lots of people, as it turns out. No one wants to punch a woman in the stomach, even if she is specifically requesting it and pushing her tensed muscles toward you.
OK. It’s not a friend of mine. It’s me. And I sheepishly acknowledge that, having rediscovered my physical self two years ago, I may have flexed for a few people.
Ahem.
See, I’ve always been good at exercising my brain, but my body? Left to my own devices, I am not the woman to go running the paths around the lakes. I admire those people, I’ve wanted to be one of those people, but running? Like being chased by two puppies in a gunny sack, if you follow my meaning.
Which got me to thinking.
Is there a card for this, for people in the throes of changing how they see themselves?
“Congratulations on having discovered your body! I hope you two are very happy together.” And then you open it up. “Now stop challenging me to drunken push-ups.”
Why not?
I’m not the only one, of course. I honestly did have a friend who used to show me how her personal coach made her do lunges. There she’d be, showing me her lunges, lunging from one end of the yard to the other, demonstrating how her thigh is parallel to the ground, when to inhale, when to exhale.
So yes. I am aware of how dull “check out my new muscles” can be; and I’ve personally declared, here and publicly, that enough is enough.
I hereby recognize and concede that I will no longer –even when drunk! – challenge people to The Arm-Wrestling Champeenship of the World.
Which is why I think there should be a card involved. You know, just to get it out of the way, a formal acknowledgment that yes, cool that you’re working out; yes, I see that your pants are looser; yes, your egg-white-and-wheat-germ omelet recipe sounds intriguing; and yes, they’re doing wonderful things with soy these days.
Outside of the card: “I hear you’re not eating gluten!” Inside of the card: “Can I have it?”
You know, I’m just full of ideas, all day long.
I’m not saying they’re good ideas. I’m just saying I’m full of them.
“Here,” she grunts, pushing her belly forward, “Punch me. Feel those muscles. Go ahead. Punch me.”
Who can pass up such a situation? Lots of people, as it turns out. No one wants to punch a woman in the stomach, even if she is specifically requesting it and pushing her tensed muscles toward you.
OK. It’s not a friend of mine. It’s me. And I sheepishly acknowledge that, having rediscovered my physical self two years ago, I may have flexed for a few people.
Ahem.
See, I’ve always been good at exercising my brain, but my body? Left to my own devices, I am not the woman to go running the paths around the lakes. I admire those people, I’ve wanted to be one of those people, but running? Like being chased by two puppies in a gunny sack, if you follow my meaning.
Which got me to thinking.
Is there a card for this, for people in the throes of changing how they see themselves?
“Congratulations on having discovered your body! I hope you two are very happy together.” And then you open it up. “Now stop challenging me to drunken push-ups.”
Why not?
I’m not the only one, of course. I honestly did have a friend who used to show me how her personal coach made her do lunges. There she’d be, showing me her lunges, lunging from one end of the yard to the other, demonstrating how her thigh is parallel to the ground, when to inhale, when to exhale.
So yes. I am aware of how dull “check out my new muscles” can be; and I’ve personally declared, here and publicly, that enough is enough.
I hereby recognize and concede that I will no longer –even when drunk! – challenge people to The Arm-Wrestling Champeenship of the World.
Which is why I think there should be a card involved. You know, just to get it out of the way, a formal acknowledgment that yes, cool that you’re working out; yes, I see that your pants are looser; yes, your egg-white-and-wheat-germ omelet recipe sounds intriguing; and yes, they’re doing wonderful things with soy these days.
Outside of the card: “I hear you’re not eating gluten!” Inside of the card: “Can I have it?”
You know, I’m just full of ideas, all day long.
I’m not saying they’re good ideas. I’m just saying I’m full of them.
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32 comments:
I spewed my water at this- we're on the same path today. I have a card on order- I can send you a copy, and I also have my ab status on one of those Medic Alert bracelets, so they won't be alarmed at how FIRM my core is should I fall victim to an accident. :)
My post today is also about working out and the gym. There are joys in middle age, aren't there?
Surely, if you went running, you would be ... ahem! ... pushing your puppies, wouldn't ya?
Just sayin'!
I'll be 78 next month but my memory isn't completely gone. For instance, I remember having stomach muscles!
Instead of punch I poked and apparently the newly created abdominal muscles (or nerve endings or whatever is in there unprotected by fat and flab) still feels the sharp pain of a well placed poke. I don't believe she's asked anyone to punch her abs again.
I'll be checking the Hallmark rack - I'd buy those cards :>)
No harm in being proud of your achievements... I am flexing my new biceps as I type... they may only be weeny, but they are new to me.
Sx
Ahh go ahead and show off those muscles...you got to listen to how smart their freaking kids are don't you.
I've been told I'm full of .... oh .... wait. That's a whole other thing.
It is in our DNA to try to convert others to our way of doing things. Religion, politics, dating, dieting. If we convert someone and they are happy, we get karma credits, right?
There's entirely too much lunging and crunching going on and not enough scampering. Muscles are fine but I like to fit into places where big people can't get me.
And then they want you to do it, too. I know that kind. :) I've with you, Pearl.
If I hear one more person say they don't do dairy and gluten, I'm going to puke up my excess right on their running shoes. Or, their lunging shoes.
Pearl, girl, I'm sure glad you're so darn funny. It makes life feel better every time I read you.
Ah Pearl, well you certainly are full of it. Full of good ideas. Loved your post which I could um certainly stomach. Maybe I'm a 'gluten' for punishment! :)
Just sayin'...
Your starstruck fan, Gary...
I do like this card idea. I'd never GET one, but I could give quite a few :)
Which makes me think: there might be a market for a sympathy card for the abs, lungs and heart of people like me who haven't found our calling in the fitness world yet ...
I go up and own stairs a lot.
Good going, gal! I salute both your efforts and your restraint in gloating about it.
I'm one of the dummies runnin the paths around the lake. I am slow and short, so tall people - walking - are able to pass me. But I'm out there.
Here - take a look at these calves...c'mon look at 'em, Pearl...:)
I tried roller blading around Lake Calhoun once... ended up with my entire backside all black and blue (and purple and green and yellow.) That's how I came to the realization that exercise is not good for everyone.... well, me anyway.
Oh, I like the card. Are you selling it? I have about sixteen friends that could be the recipients. Lucky me.
I have been told that a good walk is just as beneficial as lame-ass running. That's my belief and I'm sticking to it. If a woman were to ask me to punch her in the tummy I wouldn't, of course do it, but I'd be grateful for her showing her tummy because I have a kind of fetish about lady tummies. TMI? Probably.
It would appear that I am a fan of muscles, puppies and yes even calves!
No, I am not staring...
What an inspiration - in body and mind! : ) x
Hey Pearl. No more arm wrestling? Even when we're totally shit-faced?! cos, I'm just saying, I could take you. Best of 5. No, 7. Roth x
Hey Pearl. No more arm wrestling? Even when we're totally shit-faced?! cos, I'm just saying, I could take you. Best of 5. No, 7. Roth x
Good for you! Glad you have abs. I have flabs.
Sadly I am with Eva Gallant. And full of good intentions as well as full of chocolate, wine and laziness.
I am waiting... very patiently... for full body transplants.
'Scuse me whilst I clean off my monitor...
My stomach muscles packed up and left me 10 years ago. If I wanted to find them now, I'd have to instigate a world-wide search.
'Two stone gone, ten to go' Would that be a suitable inscription for a congratulations card?
Thats real interesting, people have been telling me I'm full of it for years...
Ha! I wish I'd had your cards last weekend when I was trapped at a party between 2 women blathering away about their diet/exercise regimen. It went on for over an HOUR.
May I please have some of your muscles and some of your ideas? I seem to be lacking in both these days.
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