Plyo...medic!

I am currently typing this blog while trying to stay as still as humanly possible. Any slight move to the left or right is not an option. Not. An. Option.

How did I get this way you ask? One word. Plyometrics.

So I have been working out with my sister every Monday, I conveniently chose to do the easiest work outs on her set of p90x dvds because I'm a wimp. And frankly, no real person should look like that instructor.... no one.

So we normally work out our arms, abs or core which sounds like a lot but at this point several weeks in it has become bearable. So all during this process we have been discussing the plyometrics dvd that apparently no one wants to do with her since it is like Chuck Norris on crack. Lots of jumping, kicking, leaping... you name it. I however, like a total stupid idiot went a little crazy this past weekend due to a birthday party and felt the need to punish myself. I shot off the the text that would change my week forever "I think I'll join you for Plyo this week!" Duh dah duhhhhh.

She pounced on me in no time, "Awwww Sheeyat dude, you in for trouble then." I mean this is my sister, we grew up together (thank you captain obvious) this couldn't be any worse than the time when we were kids and she ran to the recliner when I was chasing her and plopped down, threw her legs in the air as I was still running towards her, and kicked me right in the kisser.



Wrong.


So I went over there and we got started. The warm up finished and frankly I felt like I was finished too. But I continued. I am not sure at this point whether or not it was my need to keep up with my sister that provoked me to finish or that I actually was doing good, so I kept going. Maybe both, but either way I would regret it for the rest of the week. At one point I was kicking in the air and nearly fell over on to my sister and repaid her the favor from 2 decades earlier. After I "leaped" over the river several times and sweat went directly in to my mouth and eye ball, I was over it. For the record, neither of those things feels or tastes good.

I opted not to lay still for to long for fear of not being able to get up and I can honestly say that after two days... the moral of this story is:
Call your sister and ask her to just kick you in the face. You would feel better by now.

Attack of the 40 year old man.

Ok folks its been a tough one, so I have to write cautiously as to not to let my bitterness of not losing any weight in the last month spill over into my blog. Is it working?

As I continue to jog regularly, with or without my lazy dog Olive (motivated only to run into Luigi again, see previous blog) I had a fun little encounter as I paused to put my hair up. All of the sudden I hear honking, and I look up and see two grown men sitting in a car they should have bought 20 years ago.

Exhibit A:


Let me please set the tone: I jog in Sligo Creek Park, which for those who are unfamiliar is a quiet path that runs through my neighborhood. Any time there is street close enough to the path, you certainly would not need a horn to get someones attention because it is quieter than that section in the library where you aren't even allowed to breath.

So to my confusion I look up startled, as clearly being short of breath had deprived oxygen to my brain at this point. They looked at me and began whistling and shouting. Yes. Whistling and shouting. Did I mention it was 10am on a Sunday? We are not in Ocean City, where are your manors?! So I dissolved the situation the only way I knew now. I quickly looked down at my dog and pointed at her, then with my best Oscar worthy performance I looked at her in shock and then back to the gentlemen in the tiny car, "Her?! I know she is quite the sexy beast isn't she!" My dog looked at me panting as usual with a face that can only be described as "are we done yet?", the men however were not amused at my antics and drove off at a speed which caused them to sound like their car was going to topple over the bridge as they took off.

Lesson learned? Maybe in ten more pounds I will get someone 10 years younger. This isn't my first encounter with the 40 year old man. It is a species that is still foreign to me, and while I would like to consider one for sugar daddy purposes, I don't think that realistically I can maintain that sort of lifestyle (I'm pretty sure trophy wives don't get away with wearing their chuck taylor's on a regular basis). I do realize that eventually I will have to stop using the term "you are old enough to be my father" since that would be really gross at the age of ten, and start excepting the silver foxes of the world.


But not yet.