Looking back on my evening, I think in reference to me, that heading is half true. And it’s not the “walking” half.
I’ve noticed recently that my hands and feet are cold a lot. Sure, it’s Minnesota with temperatures in the single digits outside on a good day, but it still doesn’t feel right. Last night, I came to this conclusion: I’m not in very good shape. With a wussy heart (and I’m talking about strength, not why I cry every time Mom watches Oprah), I’m not getting enough blood to my outer extremities. Thus, I’ve got cold hands and cold feet and I could probably use a little more circulation in my head. That would certainly explain why I sit in front of study materials and the words slowly run together, the concepts don’t make sense and it’s a short matter of time before I start to feel stupiderer…er.
So now I’m trying to reverse those effects by reaching some semblance of fitness. Today, I went to the health club and took a spinning class. For those of you who aren’t “in the know”… you’re probably better off that way. But if you’re still curious, it’s a class where everyone jumps on a stationary bike and hopefully has it set to the proper height instead of skewering their crotches like human marshmallows—I use that comparison primarily because all that pedaling made my legs burn so much that I could easily have used for a Shawn s’more…
The class lasted about fifty minutes, whereas I lasted… well, I stayed on the bike without passing out and I think that’s an accomplishment in its own right. Naturally, as I walked out of the room, I was suffering from a nasty case of “Jell-O legs.” They were holding me upright, but the newly-added wobbling wasn’t terribly encouraging. That’s when my survival instinct took over and I took a shower, got in my car and drove home. (And if you don’t understand why my survivor instinct was necessary for such menial labor, you’ve obviously never taken a spinning class before.)
So whenever I pull into the driveway, Kao (our big golden lab) comes out and paces back and forth in her kennel—“You’re home, now take me for a walk, dammit!” Tonight, I let her out and she started bouncing towards the road. I turned and made it to Bounce #1 before my legs threatened to take the rest of the night off. She could prance through the woods all she wanted, but I was sticking to the side of the road. With a little extra wobbling for good measure.
I put her back in her kennel, walked to the house, made it down here to my room and I’m thinkin’ that’s a wrap. I ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon. Typing on the blog, no problem. Crawling into bed, piece of cake. Heading upstairs to use the bathroom… maybe wetting the bed when I was little wasn’t so bad after all. And just imagine, when they find me dead in the morning, they won’t think about finding the tinkle in the sheets—they’ll talk about what strong legs I have. And how rigor mortis didn’t keep the muscles from twitching through the night.
