Is anyone else afraid they’ll fart while doing a squat?
Uggh. Argghhh! Halppppppp!
These are the sounds I anticipate making tomorrow when I attempt to work out for the first time in five years. You read that right. After months of contemplation, this couch potato is going to find her fitness.
And now, for the purpose of comedy and embarrassment, I will share with you the ridiculously lengthy process I engaged in to get to this point.
Step 1: Youtube Video Watching
Don’t all epic adventures start with the “Inter-ma-net,” these days? Surely it would have some magical fitness videos that would transform me. Not so. It turns out that just watching the videos once or twice and saving them to “my channels,” doesn’t change your fitness level. (FYI, watching endless videos about dogs that don’t want to get out of bed and tiny pigs who like having their bellies scratched also doesn’t make you fit.)
Step 2: Purchasing Fitness Equipment
After begrudgingly accepting that watching exercise videos wasn’t enough, I convinced myself that my poor physical state was solely based on me not having the right equipment. (Of course it had nothing to do with my sloth like existence and potato/sugar based diet.) So I went out and bought a bunch of dumbbells thinking that I would be able to throw in a few reps here and there and become a strong, fitness goddess in no time. Predictably the weights are now being used as doorstops and bug crushers.
Step 3: Magic Phone
Clearly something was standing in the way of me making progress, I just had to put my finger on it. Was it a time thing? Ya, that had to be it. If I could just fine the right time saving fitness app for my phone I would be able to fit in exercise on the go and thusly transform my life. (I so knew I was full of shit at this point, but flat out refused to admit defeat or that it was time for some outside help.) Unsurprisingly I didn’t use the crappy app once.
Step 4: Stupid Fate Steps In
I was now several months into my “I am fitness,” kick with absolutely nothing to show for it and had seriously started to consider resigning myself to my human potato status and finally get that chair thingy to carry me upstairs like my Grandma used to have. And then stupid fate stepped in. Less then twenty-four hours later, while being dragged into a mall with one of my girls, I ran into a friend from college who had given up her career in television to become a personal trainer. (Uggh, really fate, did you need to be this obvious?) And I knew it was time to stop f’ing around.
Step 5: Admitting I Suck and Asking for Help
I suck at fitness. I admit it. (There, are you happy fate?) Later that night I texted my friend and asked for her help. And miraculously she agreed to take me on. (She has no idea what she’s in for. The noises I listed at the top are just a snapshot of the horrible sounds that will emerge from my body.)
Step 6: Fear and Regret
Of course now I’m living in fear about what I’ve gotten myself into. It’s one thing to plan to exercise and a totally different thing to commit to doing it, especially under the watchful eye of someone who is both a friend and a professional fitness guru. But I refuse to back down. As much as I enjoy my potato-based existence, both couch and diet wise, my body is insisting it’s time for a change and my stubborn brain will just have to catch up.
Now if I could just get over my overwhelming fear that a fart will sneak out while I am being cajoled into doing some kind of crunch or squat like thingy.
Rest assured, I will keep you posted on my fitness progress. Sure I could pretend I am sharing to inspire others to get healthy, but I’m a realist, the comedy of someone like me getting fit is just too golden not to share.