Day Seven: Why I Need New Shoes

I worked out. It feels like someone has jabbed a screwdriver (flat head) through the top of my skull. This is because I had a sinus headache when I turned on the DVD. This is a present Jillian gave me.

I was talking to Mum this morning, and I said, "I think if I stick with this, I will get new shoes for working out!"

Mom replied, "Those ARE new shoes! I thought you bought those when you started that running thing a few years ago. Then you put them in your closet and never wore them!"

I nodded. This was completely true.

"They are covered with bloodstains," I said. "I cannot get the stains out."

Mom stared.

Here is the story.

A few years ago, I decided that my constant run-down feeling was due to a lack of physical fitness. Yoga, I thought, was doing nothing at all. I was a wreck, and I needed to work out harder. Then I would feel better. Really the reason I felt sick was because my gallbladder was slowly dying inside me. But that is beside the point.

I decided I would become a runner. I had always admired runners. I still do.

I see them out and about in town, and they are in cute running clothes, and they are moving at a good pace, and they have ponytails and iPods and they look like they were in a Nike ad, and they just ran right off the billboard and into real life. And they don't seem to care what the temperature is, or that they're running when nothing is chasing them. They just run.

I have a friend, Jaren, and she ran for like 22 miles for FUN. It was her thing that she did! And then she saved me from falling of a mountain.

I bet the running helped her reflexes.

And then I was driving today, and I saw this girl out running. And then I ate lunch and an hour later, I saw her on my way back to work, and she was STILL RUNNING.

That is pretty impressive.

Anyway, I wanted that for me. I would have a runner's physique. I would have a running playlist. And so I ran.

First, I got shin splints. I get them whenever I try any workout that involves impact. But I kept going and tried all kinds of stretches and massage techniques that were supposed to help prevent shin splints. And then a giant semi truck almost mowed me down on the road, and I decided it was a good idea to be a cross country runner and stay far away from traffic of any kind, except maybe geese or fish swimming in the river alongside me.

Usually, geese or fish, they do not crush you under their tires.

So I ran. And after a week or so, I decided that washing all my socks repeatedly was cramping my style, so I bought new socks. I thought they were the same as my old socks, but they were not. These socks were shorter.

No biggie, I thought. The socks would not take away from the sheer awesomeness of my running shoes, which were clearly epic in every sense of the word. Plus they were narrow enough for my feet, so less chances of ankle injury! I was thrilled.

Then I went running.

I noticed after the first lap (I was running a course around my family's property that amounted to around two miles), I noticed my Achilles tendons felt a little tight. So I stopped and did more stretching, and I kept going. I was hard core. I could take this. When the tightness didn't go away, I told myself I was being a wimp. And I kept running. When I'd finished my course, I stretched more, did my cool-down, and I went inside.

"Hey," I gasped at my father.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEGS???" Dad asked. He looked horrified.

When I leaned over and looked, I noticed my shoes were covered with blood. And filled with blood. And my socks were soaked in blood. My blood. Because my shoes, my adorable running shoes, had basically scissored open my skin where the back of the shoe ended at the top. Right where my tendon was. Right where it had been feeling tight.

I was forced to toss the new socks and I tried with all the stain-fighter stuff I had to get the blood out of my shoes. And it kinda worked...but there was this trendy mesh stuff, and under that, there is still a stain. My DNA, folks. So if you ever need to clone me, you know where to look.

And that is why, when I finish 30 Day Shred, I may just invest in some trendy new running shoes. Or I will take my shoes to a hospital or CSI unit and ask to borrow some industrial cleaner of some kind.

It is also why I will never be a runner. I cannot handle that sort of thing again. I looked like a Quentin Tarantino move.

Day Six: I Am Still Not a Morning Person

Well, I didn't wake up early to work out this morning.

Are you surprised?

I didn't think so.

But did I manage to pick up coworker, drive to work, work 8 hours, drive coworker home, drive to North Manchester, eat pizza and knit with Rachael and Katherine, buy groceries, drive home, drive back to coworker's place for White Collar AND somehow squeeze in the 30 Day Shred?

YES, I DID.

I feel this is a personal victory for me, because it would have been so very easy for me to say, "I am too busy to work out today, so I will work out tomorrow and it will be okay." And that is usually why I quit exercising, because one day becomes a weekend, then a week, then it just stops happening altogether.

Even if Tuesdays remain insane, at least now I know I can manage fitting in 30 minutes of exercise. So, YAY.

In other news, I must begrudgingly admit that this whole thing is getting easier. I mean, I'm not calling it easy, because it still feels like a rabid wolverine is ripping my thigh muscles off every time I do anything resembling a squat, but I start praying for death and visualizing Jillian's head exploding later in the workout than I did at the beginning.

In other news, I am still walking around and saying, "GEE, FAMILY! DON'T MY MUSCLES LOOK BIGGER? I THINK THEY DO! AND ALSO, I AM THINNER AND I APPEAR HEALTHIER OVERALL, DO I NOT?" Then I stare at my family with a look that says, "Agree with me. NOW." And to their credit, they do.

That being said, my muscles do not look bigger, I am not thinner, and I do not appear healthier overall. I walk like an eighty year-old woman riddled with arthritis and osteoporosis. Baby steps.

But now I have 30 minutes all to myself before bedtime, so I am going to read my book, For Darkness Shows the Stars by Diana Peterfreund, which is a retelling of Jane Austen's Persuasion, only more darker and more dystopian-y and in the future. It is absolutely fantastic. Also it is kind of breaking my heart, but I have read Persuasion (repeatedly, it is my favorite Jane Austen novel), so I know that won't last forever. Add it to your reading lists, everyone. And while you're at it, add The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater, because it is awesomesauce.

Day Five: I Am Not a Morning Person

I have yet to work out today, but I will the second I get home. I promise.

Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to cheat.

But here's the thing. On Tuesday, this is my schedule:

6:00 AM - Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, other morning things

7:30 AM - Leave for work

8:00 AM-5:00 PM - Work

6-8:00 PM - Knitting and pizza with Rachael and Katherine

9-10:00 PM - White Collar (great show, you should watch it) with Rachel (no, not Rachael from knitting, note the spelling change)

11:00 PM - Bedtime

Do you see a lot of time in there for a workout? Because neither do I. The gaps in the schedule are primarily taken up by driving. So...

It's looking like I have to work out in the morning.

I hate mornings.

Mornings are the devil.

I do not want to wake up at 5:00 AM just so I can squeeze in 30 Day Shred and then a bath because grossness. This will make me hate my life and exercise in general even more than I already do. But I cannot cheat! I must work out. So it's looking like I'll be rushing home after knitting for 30 Day Shred or maybe I'll wait until after White Collar...

I hate my life.

In other news, I came back from lunch and broke into hives randomly. So now there are hives. I don't know whether I'm allergic to the library, something I touched, or the prospect of waking up early just to sweat.

I also hate sweating.

I think I have hives behind my ears. So that's a thing that happened.

I don't want to know what 5:00 AM looks like. I don't want to. You can't make me. Stupid Jillian and her judgmental abs, stealing my precious sleep with her psychotic exercise-fueled demonic powers. Is it better to work out early in the morning? I feel like Bailey would tell me it is. Bailey knows things about exercise. Check yesterday's comments if you don't believe me. She KNOWS things. It's true.

So. Blog poll. Should I, (A) Wake up ungodly early just to sweat or (B) Risk sleeplessness and work out in the evening? Make your opinions known in the comments.

Day Four: Paranoia and Desserts

It is day four.

What else is there to say?

I could tell you about how today I contemplated crawling under the bed and pretending I no longer existed so that Jillian Michaels wouldn't be able to find me if she came looking for me to find out how my exercising was working out, since I am pretty sure she keeps a list of all the people who buy her DVDs and performs spot checks to make sure we're keeping up our end of the bargain.

I could also tell you how I walked up to my brother and said in a loud voice, "Gee, don't I look great, Paul? Isn't it unbelievable that you can see a difference this quickly, and that I look so much healthier and more filled with energy and joy?!"

And Paul, because he is (mostly) a good brother who can take a hint, said, "Wow, Laura! You really can tell! You look great!"

And if I hadn't already forgiven him for the whole laundry thing, that would have been enough to make me do it. Especially since he did his laundry before 6:00 PM today, so I could do mine without waiting for him.

Well done, Paul.

And I could tell you how I instructed Twitter, if various Twitter-folk saw me out in the world, to come up to me and tell me how much healthier I look, because that will give me the inspiration to keep going.

Because, you see, I have another workout theory: If someone is starting an exercise program and people tell them they look good, they work out more. If no one says anything and they are in pain, they get sad and eat a cookie. And then they eat another cookie. And then they think, "Cookies taste better than pain feels." And then they stop exercising because if you have to choose between cookies and pain, you are going to choose cookies.

Also, for the record, cookies are really tasty. And since I am working out, the single cookie I ate today has been burned off. Win. Except Mom made cobbler, and I ate some of that, too.

In my defense, I ate said cobbler because Mom handed it to me in a little bowl. It was a sweet thing for her to do. So I ate the cobbler instead of saying, "Are you trying to make these jeans stop fitting?!" Because these jeans aren't even tight. And because I really like cobbler, especially cobbler with peaches AND blueberries. Plus, fruit is totally healthy.

In other news, I have run out of my favorite honey soap and have to use different, less awesome soap. This is more tragic than you know.

And oddly, I am feeling less tortured following today's session of 30 Day Shred than I have after the last three. Is this progress? I am going to say that it's progress.

Have a happy Sunday, everyone.

Day Three: Wipe Out

So I got the genius idea sometime yesterday evening that I should do 30 Day Shred every day, because if I take breaks, the agony I feel will only renew itself each time I complete the workout and improve very, very slowly. My thinking was, the pain I am in cannot possibly get worse, so I should remain in this pain until it abates when my muscles grow used to this kind of stress.

I am such a moron.

Not that this is not a good idea, because I really think it is. It just means I have to keep working out, which is akin to submitting to repeated root canals without anesthesia.

Or something.

But really, I have to say that the pain hasn't gotten WORSE. It has just stayed the same. And I can cope with that. Ish. See, as my friend Bailey will tell you, I have not stopped talking about the 30 Day Shred since beginning 30 Day Shred. And today, on our trip to Indy, the most-repeated phrase was "30 Day Shred." In fact, I said it so much and so often, it quickly melded into a single word, which sounds something like "Thurdedyshred."

Also, Bailey became aware of another development from Thurdedyshred. I cannot use my quadriceps. At all.

This means I cannot sit down in the car. I have to grab the door frame and drop myself onto the seat. I cannot get out of the car without levering myself back out using the steering wheel and armrest. I cannot sit in a booth at a restaurant without collapsing into it haphazardly, nor can I get back up without shoving myself onto my feet using the table to push off.

The reason isn't pain, although believe me, there is PAIN. It is that my quadriceps just give out. One minute they are supporting my weight, the next it is as if there is no muscle group there at all. And I am on the floor.

Let's talk for a moment about getting out of bed in the morning. How does falling onto the ground and using the bed to pick yourself back up again sound? Because that is my life.

And getting on and off the toilet? It is more like dropping from standing to sitting without any control of trajectory, praying that I will land on the seat and not on the floor, and getting back up means that I have to lean on SOMETHING, which means in my house, grabbing the sink and dragging my body to a standing position. And in public restrooms? That is what handicapped stalls are for. Really. I can use those safety bars they put on the walls. They are very helpful.

Did I mention that our toilet seat is kinda broken at home? It is attached on only one side. So that makes things extra interesting when trying not to fall half-nude onto the floor.

I hate my life.

But today, things took a turn for the worse, because I went out. Bailey and I, as I mentioned, went to Indy. And since we are such exciting young folk, once we finished lunch, we found ourselves with no idea what else to do before our drive back home. So we walked around the mall.

This was the mall where the Cheesecake Factory is. It is a fancy mall. It has a Pottery Barn, a Sacs Fifth Avenue, COACH, Tiffany's...and Burberry. We'll come back to Burberry.

This particular mall is also under construction, so that added a bit of confusion to our trek between stores. We explored Anthropologie, which I love but cannot afford, and found there was a sale. I bought adorable sunglasses and a present for Mum's birthday. And then we got lost. And then we found we'd walked in circles (construction). And then we discovered the area we'd thought was construction, and therefore, off limits, was actually a path you could take. So we went down it and discovered stairs.

And I went down one stair. It involved positioning my foot and then trying to control my fall. And there was a whimper/grunt/moan noise involved when the foot landed. And then I was right back up the stair and in line for the elevator, while Bailey (justifiably) died with laughter.

As we walked around the second wing of the mall, one leg just randomly gave out, and I barely caught myself on a bench before I went head over heels into a random Fiat that was on display. Bailey again laughed at me. Again, I deserved it.

Have you ever been to Burberry? It is a fancy store. Their coats are to die for, and they have lovely perfumes. Mum loves Brit, which smells awesome on it's own, but whatever Mum's body chemistry is makes it smell even better, so between us, Dad and I make sure she has a bottle at all times. She deserves something fancy.

Really, the only thing you can afford at Burberry is a bottle of perfume once a year. Because seriously, their coats cost, like $3,000. No joke. And I am not in the 1%, folks. I am in the bottom of the 99%. I cannot buy a $3,000 coat. I couldn't even buy a $3,000 CAR.

Apparently, I also cannot walk.

Bailey wanted to smell the Burberry perfumes, and I wanted to feel the wool of the coats I cannot afford because good wool is like high-grade heroin to me. So we went in. And we walked around, and I didn't even look at price tags, because I know better. And then we were walking out.

There was this mannequin. It always starts with mannequins.

It was dressed in what would probably amount to $10,000 or more in clothing and accessories. And it was centered in front of the registers.

And I walked past the mannequin. I did NOT bump into the mannequin (although I have done that in other stores).

What I also didn't do was look down. So there is the abnormally tall mannequin, and there is Laura, walking. And then suddenly, Laura is flying forward and windmilling her arms like in Thurdedyshred, and then she is out the door as fast as her legs will carry her (not fast), pursued by Bailey, who is laughing so hard, she has lost the ability to breathe.

The mannequin, you see, was on a plastic platform. That would be why it was unnaturally tall. It was raised five inches or so off the ground. One of my feet went on the ground. One of my feet went on the platform. Sadly, this was enough like a stair to cause my quadriceps to fail utterly, launching me into the air. And then, miraculously, I regained my footing. Just in time to flee before being banned from Burberry for life.

It's really too bad I didn't fall down. Imagine the lawsuit!

I would totally have settled, too. They could have given me this coat, and I would have signed all kinds of release forms.

Source: us.burberry.com via Laura on Pinterest

Instead, I went home and did Thurdedyshred again. And I think I pulled my neck. Stupid crunches.

Day Two: My Muscles Are Made of Fire.

I can't sit down. When I try, there is this explosion of pain, and my sitting becomes more of a controlled fall.

Meanwhile, I have committed to join Erin in a running program she found. Why? Because the first day involves walking for four minutes, running for a minute, and walking for another four minutes. But I now have this sinking feeling that maybe the first day is actually really easy and maybe it gets harder. Because eventually, you end up running a 5K.

What is this violin?

Meanwhile, I have discovered a complication to working out.

You still have to eat meals. So you are taking in calories. Calories that you just burned off. So you are undoing the work that you just did the second you eat your next meal.

This is terrible. No wonder so many people end up with eating disorders.

I am not a math genius, but I do know that if you take something away, then add something back, you end up right where you were before.

This is a problem.

It is also a problem that I love food. I love food more than I love most anything. Especially when I get to eat said food. Sometimes, when I am at work, I go on Pinterest and stare at pictures of food. Just because.

Yesterday, after my workout, my muscles felt like they were made of Jello Jigglers. Today, they are made of FIRE. It is like someone sculpted lava, shoved it under my skin, and said, "Go for a walk, Laura."

Then I went to work, and I discovered that I could not kneel. I needed a book on the bottom shelf, so I had to drag over a stool and use it to slowly lower myself to the ground. Then I had to use it to stand back up. It was degrading.

I insisted that it was Erin's fault, and she just kept saying, "It get's easier!" And I said, "Does the pain ever stop?" And she said, "I do it almost every day, and I'm not in pain."

I failed to ask her if she was using some kind of schedule-three narcotic for pain relief on a daily basis.

Before I knew it, she had talked me into repeating the workout from yesterday AND joining her in this running program which will begin soon, and I have decided that I maybe have a carbon monoxide leak at home or at work because that's the only thing I can think of that would make me suggestible enough to be persuaded to join in Erin's Psychotic Reign of Exercise Terror.

Meanwhile, Melynda says that when I get used to this DVD, I can move on to this other, harder DVD.

But...but...but...

HARDER?

I feel like harder would be akin to having my arms and legs removed without anesthetic. I feel like harder is what they do to people in Turkish prisons, or like those ceremonies where people puncture their skin with needles and attach weights.

HARDER???

Harder is what it would feel like if all the cells in your body spontaneously exploded. That is harder.

I really don't want to melt into a puddle of Laura-goo, especially because I'm pretty sure if I did that, the goo-me would also be on fire.

One pound weights never felt this heavy, and stairs have never been this impossible. I am not even going to tell you how hard it is for me to sit down on the toilet, because if I did, you'd be laughing so hard, you would never look at me the same way. Let's just say, all toilets should come with those hand rails they have in the handicapped stalls.

At the moment, I am somewhere between shock and weeping uncontrollably. I keep having to check to make sure my legs are still attached, because the only thing that would explain this level of pain is if my legs had been violently detached, possibly by an alligator or chainsaw. And this is after a dose of ibuprofen.

So how is your Friday going?

Why I Am Crying and Lying Under the Dining Room Table

This is all Erin's fault.

Erin with her quiet determination, Erin who decided to make fitness a priority, Erin who extolled the virtues of a workout DVD called 30 Day Shred.

Look. It's like her abs are judging you. That's what Rachael said when she saw it, and she is totally right.

See, Erin kept talking about how she's on level two now, and how she's lost weight, and how she feels like she's making positive strides toward fitness and life is good and...

I just can't hear that stuff without feeling a glimmer of hope. Like, maybe, just maybe, this will work for me. Because it's an indoor thing, and so the weather will not be involved. Because it doesn't involve me running or anything that might cause an asthma flare-up or mean that other people could possibly see me sweat. It is a video. How horrible can a video be?

Turns out, pretty horrible.

I have lots of Fitness Theories.

The first one is, that because I lift things all day, chase children, and run up and down stairs, I am getting a workout just by showing up to work every day*.

The second theory is that, since my lungs are constantly struggling to function, what with the asthma, walking around and breathing at the same time counts as cardio**.

The third is, since asthma makes my lungs and heart work harder than they should, I am actually more fit than other people. I would be able to outrun you, if my lungs worked right***.

I also think that if God had wanted us to exercise, he would have made more bears. And also zombies. Or, like a girl on Twitter told me, He would have made couches out of scorpions.

I feel like, without something chasing me, running has no purpose. It is like math that way. If you don't need to work out how many yards of lace-weight you need for the gorgeous shawl pattern you found, than why are you multiplying numbers?

On Tuesday, I was killing time before meeting Rachael (of the judging-abs comment), when I found myself wandering through Walmart. And picking up 30 Day Shred, and picking up hand weights (with Velcro straps that will prevent my throwing them accidentally) and buying both of these things and resolving that, if Erin can do this workout, I can do this workout too, because I have legs and arms and can do things****.

And so today, I did 30 Day Shred for the first time, and now I am dead. I never got out of breath, so maybe my lung-function leading to better heart health theory is actually valid. But my muscles are now made of some kind of Jello-like substance and I am pretty sure I am a corpse that is somehow walking around and talking to people.

This is what 30 Day Shred is like.

Jillian: "I am skinnier than you. And also I have more money. Now do what I tell you, and you will be skinny, but unfortunately, still poor."

Me: "I hate your face."

Jillian: "Now do jumping jacks!"

Me: "At least I was skinny when I was a kid. Unlike some people."

Jillian: "You are doing really well!"

Me: *sweat drips into eyes* "Don't patronize me, Jillian."

Jillian: "Just four more of these lunges!"

Me: "I think you are the Devil."

The only problem with my surviving level one of the DVD is that I have to survive it again when I repeat the process. The DVD says I should do this every day.

I can see myself continuing this process only for one reason: I violently dislike Jillian Michaels, because I feel that, though she has never met me before in her life, she actually hates me because I am less physically fit than I ought to be. I realize that this belief is inherently flawed. I am sure that the Real Life Jillian Michaels is actually a really nice person who loves her family and just really wants people to be healthy, but for some reason, I interpret this desire of Jillian's as hatred directed at me. The sane part of my brain feels guilty about believing these terrible things about Jillian. The crazy part of me thinks she didn't really need that car of hers when she has such an awesome, tricked out broom she rides around at night*****.

I'm a bad person******.

(But, in my defense, I am mostly dead.)

* This is probably a lie.

** This is almost certainly a lie.


*** This is definitely a lie.


**** Clearly, I was suffering from some kind of delusional break from reality. I cannot do things.


***** Honestly, Jillian. I am really sorry. I'm a bad person. But I promise I will change my errant ways if your DVD makes me healthy.


****** This should come as news to none of you.