Like a Virgin

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I work out at V-Fit Studio.  You know that Gabe "The Silent Assassin" is my primary trainer and the studio is owned by Victor.

Handsome Victor.  Dreamy Victor. Victor the Giver. 

Vic the Basterd. 

Last week, Gabe wasn't feeling well, so I did my workout with Vic.  Vic, true to form, came up with a deceptively simple workout, then made me do 10 sets.  With suicides in between.  TEN sets.

Gabe only makes me do 5.

What the hell, it was only for a day.  Besides, Victor is funny, and he flirts, and he laughs at all my jokes.  It didn't hurt that bad. 

Then on Tuesday, Gabe is still not in, so Victor helps me again.  He gives me 10 lb weights and tells me what to do. 

I say "Actually, Gabe has me use 12 lbs on this one".

Victor smiles and says "trust me".

Uh oh.

Victor has an interesting new regimen. 

Low weight, high reps, no rest, many many many sets.

Many many MANY sets.

And no rest in between.

Whimper.

My arms are sore.  Not the pang of muscles pushed hard for a long time.  Not the sore that I get after Gabe puts me through my paces. 

My arms are sore as in I-have-never-worked-out-my-whole-life-and-I-think-I-overdid-it-my-first-time sore.  My muscles burned so much you could have lit a cigar with my shoulder. 

Haven't I been working out for OVER A YEAR?

Haven't I been doing things I could NEVER do before?  Like push ups from my toes, dips, walkouts and don't forget the Around-the-Fucking-Worlds.  Haven't I participated in TWELVE 5Ks?  Didn't I just WIN the CHALLENGE??????????????

Apparently, all that is behind me.

It would be OK if it was just for a day or two, while Gabe is out.

Apparently, Gabe is going to open the new facility on the Island.

Gabe got promoted.

Dammit. 

I mean, good for Gabe!  He deserves it!

So I get Victor.  Dreamy, Handsome, Sadistic Victor.

And I'm starting all over again.

Vic. And Gabe.  I know they are good looking, but DAMMIT!

Nine (9) Months

I have been working out since July 10, 2010. 

That's nine (9) months of Vic.  Nine (9) months of sweating.  Grunting.  Swearing.  Nine (9) months of making a fool out of myself and then running to my keyboard so I could tell you about it.

Nine (9) months ago, I couldn't have carried  my 34 lb child almost a mile.  Saturday, I did just that -- at the Naval Air Station Corpus Christi Airshow. 

Nine (9) months ago, I couldn't buy a sports bra anywhere but the plus size section of Lane Bryant.  Yesterday I bought an XL off the rack at Kohl's.  (Still can't buy belts, but bras?  Oh yeah.  My girls are shrinking)

Nine (9) months ago, an afternoon of pruning trees would render me useless for three days.  Sunday, I didn't even break a sweat.

Nine (9) months ago I didn't know Vic.  Or Gabe.  Or Ricky (sigh).  Or Mary L or Laurie L or the Other Laurie or Maria or Dana or Dee-Ann or Jesse or Liz or Lee or Rene or Tim or any of the awesome people that are now my V-Fit friends.  That's the best part.

I'm still fat.  I'm just not as fat as I was nine (9) months ago.  And I am a whole lot fitter.

Nine (9) months.

My Valentine to V-Fit

I went to the doctor today.

Not Dr. Jellyfinger, the other one. (Sorry Shawn.  I couldn't resist)

Since I last saw this doctor, I have lost 25 lbs and my blood pressure is way down. 

WOOOT!

THIS is the reason I have been doing this:



Yes, I am carrying a TIRE over my head.



And THIS:

 What rhymes with TRUCK?  Exactly. 

The doctor was very encouraged. 

Her: "Yeay YOU!  You've been exercising!"

Me: "I have!"

Her: "And watching what you eat!"

Me:  "ummmmm, no.  We're not there yet."

Her:  "OK. But we need to get there, OK?"

Me:  "Ummmmm. . . I pushed a truck."

So I am happy with this mini-victory.  So Happy Valentine's Day Vic, Gabe, Ricky & Mari!  (You haven't heard me mention Mari?  Sorry.  She's adorable.  But not in a Vic way.  So you can understand why I don't blog about her.  Heh.)

I pink-puffy-healthy-heart you guys!

Workout on the Chain Gang -- UPDATED

Just when I think Victor can't come up with anything more horrible than making me carry 30 lbs up and down a staircase, he surprises me with yet another twisted scheme to get me in shape.

Yesterday I put on my cute pink skort (which I will wear until it is in shreds), a clean white t-shirt and my workout shoes.  I went to V-Fit for my meeting with Gabe.

"Come with me" he said. 

I followed him through a doorway that I had always assumed was a storage closet.  The storage closet led to a dark passage, then to a concrete stairway.  We went down the stairs to another store room, then through a warehouse and ended up in what looked like my brother's garage --complete with broken guitars, old board games and non-working appliances.  Gabe raised the garage door and led me out to a side lot strewn with old tires, tools and other debris. 

If it wasn't Gabe, I might have feared for my safety.

I should have feared for my safety.

Gabe handed me a 15 lb medicine ball and told me to bounce it against the wall for 90 seconds.  I had to hit a spot 2 feet over my head.  It wasn't so bad for about 10 seconds.  Then it got harder.  It turned out to be challenging, but I didn't think it was worth coming all that way just so I could work my shoulders. 

Then Gabe handed me a car tire. 

Yep.  CAR TIRE.  It was made of black rubber and had GOODYEAR printed on the side.  It wasn't new, either. 

I had to swing the tire from side to side, bouncing it off the wall each pass.  Then I had to toss it behind my  head 15 times.  Then I had to carry it over my head and run laps.  My hands were filthy.

And car tires are HEAVY.

Then he handed me a sledge hammer.  Which is heavier than a car tire.

I had to run laps carrying the sledge hammer.  It sure made me feel sorry for all the brave firefighters (like  my friend Randy) who have to run with sledge hammers while wearing full protective gear.

Then I had to take the sledge hammer and hammer the side of a tractor tire.  Thank God I didn't have to LIFT the tractor tire.    Although I probably will soon. 

Where did Vic think of this workout?  Huntsville Prison? 

Next thing you know he's going to buy a chevette on blocks and make us drag it across the yard.  Or he's going to get a doberman and tie meat to my ass. 

Looks like I need to put some Johnny Cash in my i-pod.

*****UPDATE**********

Just in case you think I exaggerate: