So, once upon a time I couldn't go 7.3 seconds without someone raving in my face about how awesome Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred was. Every woman on the planet was talking about how quick and easy it was. And how they had lost a crap ton of weight. And how I had to try it because it's practically the best damn thing since indoor plumbing.
Anyone remember the last time I tried to work out via an at home video? P90X ring any bells? Go ahead and Google "P90X death," then you come back and tell me who's at the very top of that results list?
Oh, hi. That would be me.
(Okay. So that doesn't really mean much. Other than I just wanted to brag that one of my posts made it to the top of the results for a specific search term. That's when you know your life is exciting.)
Tony Horton still haunts my dreams. The word 'Plyometrics' gives me rashes. And I hyperventilate a little when I see pull up bars. Nevertheless, I decided that Tony Horton probably eats people like Jillian Michaels for breakfast and bought the all-elusive 30 Day Shred DVD. It sat on my shelf for about 2 months before I finally decided to get off my increasingly large patooskie and see what this mess was all about.
I put on my super hot work out clothes, ate a Coconut Dream, then pressed play.
I was under the immensely false assumption that the "Level 1" 20 minute workout would be a breeze. I'm ashamed and all too embarrassed to admit that I made it through a grand total of 10 minutes of the workout before I felt like my lungs were going to drop out my butt, and my head was going to explode with excruciating pain. Seriously. How embarrassing. Out of shape, much?
I stomped into my bedroom, wailing that I was The Biggest Loser - thus commencing the most pathetic pity party ever. My husband cautiously opened the door that I had just slammed, and with techno music and Jillian Michaels saying "Don't you dare quit!" flooding the background, he asked me WTF was up with the soap opera scene. But obviously in a more gentle, husbandy kind of way.
And then I bawled.
And writhed in pain.
Then caught my breath.
And bawled some more.
I blubbered about how even the 700 million pound people on TV could probably get through 10 minutes of the bleepity bleeping work out. But not me. I continued on sobbing about the cottage cheese in my butt, the rolls on my back, and my ever-increasing amount of chins. And that eventually managed to turn into me blubbering about being a lame wife. Which then turned into me blubbering about having a boring job. Which then turned into me thinking I was good for nothing. Which then turned into me cursing the hell out of my birth control. Which then obviously turned into me whining about wanting a baby. My poor, poor husband sat and stared at me with a completely stunned look on this face as I sat and wiped snot, tears, and mascara all over the place.
World's most epic 22-year old tantrum ever.
Thank you for that, Jillian Michaels.
With the help of my husband, and some chocolate therapy - I started to calm down.
Thank goodness, for that. Or else it might have taken a lethal amount of Prozac to subdue the raging, hormonal, 4 year old that was yours truly. Sometimes I think I need a therapist. If but only to spare my husband the drama episodes. Luckily I married a pretty cool dude, who doesn't make me pay him to cry.
After a week or so, I decided I'd try it again. This time husband dearest offered to do it with me.
I'm proud to report that I got through the entire 20 minutes without concluding with a sob fest.
I'm also proud to report that even my husband, who so effortlessly does just about any work out, was sweating and just as red-faced as I was. That may or may not be because, rather than dumbbells, he was using his new power tools as weights. He walked into the room with the tools and said, "Now I'm the ultimate man." Perhaps it was a location kind of thing, but I'm pretty sure that was about the funniest thing ever. He said something similarly macho when Jillian Michaels referred to him as a "lady." I unfortunately didn't get a picture/video - but fear not, Internet. I will.
Moral of the story:
I can do the 30 Day Shred.
My husband is a macho man.
And even though working out makes me want to cry, I will get better at it.
Anyone else sweat to Jillian Michaels?
(A.D.D. Note of the Day: Remember Sweatin' to the Oldies with Richard Simmons. Now that was fun times. Maybe it was because I was 9, and thought I was cool for dancing with a bunch of 30-something ladies. But still. Ain't nothing like bright colored leotards, big hair, and Richard Simmons.)
Courtesy of Bing Images
Happy Tuesday, Internet.