Day 2: Still Alive!

P90X. I know you have all heard of it. I know you have all seen the infomercial at 1:00 in the morning. All these scantily dressed men and women running around all toned. They make the work outs look so easy, easy enough that you almost want to get off your couch at 1:00am and bust out 20 push-ups but instead you grab your smart phone and order the P90X online. You anxiously wait for it to come in the mail. You tell all your friends and co-workers that you ordered and how pumped you are to get started. It arrives in the mail! You open it up and read all the manuals, gather up all the need equipment and tell yourself that you will start tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes. It sits on your kitchen counter. You might briefly glance at the reading material as you are shoving a donut in your face. This is where I come in and I ask to borrow your P90X that is sitting on your kitchen counter. Wuahahahaha!

For those of you that know me well, you know that I am extremely self-motivated. Good, yes, but there is a flip side to this. I also get bored easily. I love working out but I can’t do the same work out day in and day out because I get bored and when I get bored, I lose my motivation. Knowing this about myself I am always trying to find new work outs. I just happen to find this one on a friends kitchen counter.

So, because I love you so much, I am going to share my day to day P90X experience with you. Mostly because I don’t like to suffer alone.

Day 1: Chest and Back. When the workout manual lays out the details of what you are about to undergo, it does not tell you that you will not be able to wash your own hair the next day. It also doesn’t divulge that as you are putting on a coat, you will probably get stuck in the process because your arms will not allow you to complete the task or, that simply carrying groceries from the car to your home with require three breaks which force you to place the groceries on the ground. It also doesn’t tell you that you will most likely receive rug burn on your face because your arms give out while doing decline push-ups.  BUT, I am still alive folks, humbled by a serious workout ass kicking, but alive.

Day 2: Plyometric. I have to say, I felt a lot more confident in my ability to perform a plyometric workout. I was able to do a lot more of each exercise during this video than the chest and back video. Now, before I sound too encouraging, let me tell you what I can’t do today because of what I could do during the video. I cannot walk up stairs. I actually considered using this as an excuse to get out of work today. “Hi Boss. So, it seems as though I can’t walk up stairs today.  I am afraid I can’t make it into work since there are four scaffolding stairs leading up to the door of the trailer. You may want to consider handicap accessibility.” Reasonable excuse, right? I didn’t think that would fly either, so I used the hand rail as a tool to hoist my unresponsive legs up the stairs into work. Only thing is, I can’t go down stairs either, so it looks like I now live at work now until my legs recover.

Gas Anxiety

For a reason unknown to me, the level of gasoline in our vehicle gives Kaeli great anxiety. She never fails to remind me when we are a quarter tank low. If I still don’t fill it after her friendly reminder she will give subtle reminders such as, “Are you going to stop at the gas station on the way home?” Or “Look, Meme, there is a gas station RIGHT THERE.”  If I still do not fill the tank after these gentle but constant reminders, Kaeli slips into panic mode. For example, our conversation this morning when I am trying not to lose my mind over the lack of merging knowledge by my fellow commuters, Kaeli half shouts at me:

“Meme!”

Me: “Yes, Kaeli.” I ask after nearly peeing my pants.

Kaeli: “We are almost out of gas!!”

Me: *Deep breathe* “kaeli, we will not run out of gas.”

Kaeli: “But it is almost to the red and we are stuck in traffic!”

Now, I would understand her anxiety if I was one of those people who has AAA because I make a habit of running out of gas just to inconvenience our lives, but I don’t. In fact, I have never run out of gas. Ever. So, I am not sure what she thinks will happen if we do run out of gas. Like the car will spontaneously explode, or little aliens will see our lack of mobility and abduct us, or we will get arrested, I just don’t know. What I do know is that parenting books don’t cover this type of stuff. I refuse to think Kaeli is the only child who has ever taken on the daunting task of Gas Monitor. Anybody? *Tap tap* is this thing on?

Honey Bucket

My job has been nothing less than a learning experience. I have never worked in this predominately male industry before and every day I learn something new working in construction. I have learned that middle aged men can fight like 5-year-olds over who gets to be team captain. I have learned that it is possible to squeeze more swear words into a sentence than actual words. I have observed many varieties of containers in which a person can spit chew into and that a lunch can consist of Wheat thins, Cheetos, and Peanut Butter M&M’s. However, as a woman, there is no amount of training that can prepare you for having to use a port-a-potty on a daily basis.

I knew it was coming and I had been mentally preparing for months but nothing can prepare you for the rainy days, the freezing temperatures, and having to put on safety equipment just to walk to the potty.  

At first we had to share with the boys. Ew. The male species never ceases to amaze me with their lack of personal hygiene.  It only took a couple days before the ladies were upgraded to their very own fully equipped Honey Bucket, with a padlock so the boys couldn’t get in. A highlight, yes, but it still doesn’t make up for the fact that I have to place my bare hinny on a 32 degree seat.

Now, I am learning, surprisingly, that I can adjust to the humbling fact that I will be using a port-a-potty 5 days a week, eight hours a day for the next year and a half to two years of my life but what I can’t seem to adjust to is settling with antibacterial hand gel in place of actual hand washing. To all of you that think antibacterial hand gel is more effective than hand washing should come to my place of employment at the end of the day and let me make you a meal with my bare antibacterial smothered hands. Then we will see how confident you are with this idea. By the end of the day, I want to dip my hands in acid. Even on days that I bring my lunch to work I find myself running to the nearest store on my lunch break just to wash the haunting smell of antibacterial hand gel off my hands. 

Needless to say, I have a new found respect for running water and plumbing. After all, what’s more humbling than freezing to death while breathing through your mouth to avoid stench and single ply toilet paper?