Bad things happen when good bloggers decide to present themselves as healthy, athletic-y type people. This lesson was made painfully clear to me while attempting to improve my body through some actual exercise, guided by a personal trainer. I prefer the "by-proxy" type, which means that I lounge on the sofa while I watch an exercise video and shout criticisms at the TV while pelting it with Cheetos - the crispy kind, not the puffy kind!
This year on my birthday I made a declaration that I was going to trade in my present day physique for the one I covered up with my wedding dress and uncovered on my honeymoon 18 years ago. I am well aware, that having a great body can't be acquired by a twitch of the nose a-la-Samantha-Stevens, although I've truly tried to tap my "inner Bewitched." Typically, I just look like a crazy person with really bad allergies. If reinventing one's body were that simple, I'd be Gisele Bündchen. Please don't get me wrong, I'm totally for self-improvement and self-actualization. I truly believe everyone should take care of the body they've been given, and realize their potential, to chase after goals, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah . . .
Of course, no establishment is more sobering, with it's droves of 20-something members clad in belly bearing work-out gear, than a gym. While I was waiting for my trainer, I noticed this lovely, long legged, perfectly tanned and toned young woman bring in her children and get them registered and comfortable in the day-care that was provided. Did I mention they were triplets and maybe about 6 or 7 months old, and it looked more like I had just had those babies, than she? As I craned my neck to see around the stroller top, I read baby #1's little tee, it read "I Party Naked", baby #2's tee read "I'm a Boob Man" and lastly, baby #3's tee read "Mother Sucker." As I sat passing judgments and thinking she was probably one of those women who "whore" . . . I mean "wore" maternity wear that said "Knocked Up", a perky voice said, "LeAnn" . . I look up, and guess who's standing there? Yep, Octumom minus 3! She smiled and extended her perfectly manicured hand and said, "Hi! Are you ready to get started?" I'm not really clear on what happened next, I'm pretty sure all the blood left my head after about the 50th lunge and I woke up in the ladies locker room, my body wrapped in a terry cloth towel with matching terry cloth turban on my head. The exhibitionist tendencies of my youth have turned into an almost Amish-like sense of modesty, I mean I'm an actual member of "Sensible Knickers Club" - no more thongs and trap doors for this chick! I tell you this to let you know that my tender constitution cannot really bare (if you'll pardon the pun) all the rampant nakedness that was going on in this locker room. Just as I look up, around the corner comes a lady, not just any lady, but an octogenarian. She's naked and seems to be kinda trying to wrangle her flat, long lady lumps into a bra, and for added effect, she's sporting a complete absence of afore mentioned knickers - sensible or otherwise. Let me just say this, I saw some images today that will be burned into my corneas for eternity - someone please, hold me. . . . I'm truly traumatized !
In my haste to cover my girly bits and divert my gaze away from "Naked Nanna," I stood up too quickly and bonked my elbow on the locker, which made me drop the towel around my body, and the towel around my hair fell over my half of my face. Just as this is all happening, old lady #2 comes scooting around the corner and giggles for an inordinately long time at my expense and exposure. Ten buck says two weeks from now an entire Mahjong-playin', caftan-wearing, Mojito-swilling old ladies club will be yuckin' it up when they recount this scene.
Though none of this has anything what-so-ever to do with the "vintage" or "inspirational" premise of this blog, It does address the "exhibiting exceptional skills" aspect of my posts. My trainer is really good at her job! So in closing, I feel the need to give some background here and explain that there are muscles in my body that have not been flexed since the Clinton administration . . . and now they HURT!! . . . and I feel VINTAGE!
Vintage postcard courtesy Photobucket.