In Which I Play a Gym Rat
In order to combat a chronic, recurring, annoying piriformis and ITB issue, I have acquiesced to the necessity of trips to the gym for the purpose of lifting weights. Thoroughly chastised by my long-distance chiropractor and my at-hand husband, I know the wisdom of their words. I am a fortysomething woman and, even if it were not for the nagging pain in my ass (literally), I know it is only wise to build muscle as I age–to counterbalance the inevitable effects of gravity and loss of elasticity and whatnot.
So I have a list of seven exercises: dead lifts, lunges, squats, one-legged squats, sit-ups on an exercise ball, hanging crunches, and cross body chopping/bailing thingies. (I guess that makes eight. I wanted to forget the lunges. But there they are.) I need to do these at least twice a week. Shouldn’t take me more than 20-30 minutes to go through them all, so the time commitment is not what needles me. I resist this because, having just gone through a set not an hour ago, I feel so damn awkward! Unbalanced and floppy and weak and oh-so-uncool. I realize the point of doing them is to not be unbalanced and floppy, so I shall persevere. The uncool thing is probably beyond help at this point.
But I need a gym buddy. Even a virtual one. You wanna go lift, or something? 😉