Beauty Through The Pain

Day One of Boot Camp: 500 jumping jacks, interspersed with a thousand lunges (right foot, left foot, backward, three-quarters), 300 squats (regular and "sumo"), at least 675 arm raises, which looked easy and harmless until I did a hundred of them (arms out at shoulder height, palms up; raise arms over your head until they meet with a delightful clap!; lower arms and repeat fifty times, then forty, then thirty. . . you get the idea), then tens of 8-point push ups (on a wood floor, and I'm a knee push up girl so my knees are COMPLETELY bruised), and sadistic, painful "mountain climbers," which can only be demonstrated, not described. They are not ladylike.

And some other stuff which I have, thankfully, forgotten. By the time I left the gym ALL of my muscles were entirely spent, meaning I could barely lower my ass into the driver's seat of the car. And thank christ I didn't ride my bike to the gym, as I had thought about doing; I'd STILL be riding home.

Throughout the day, the pain settled in. Never had I experienced muscle soreness the day of the over-exertion; this usually happens to me the next day, after, say weeding the garden or embarking on a new leg-lift routine. But to be sore and hardly able to walk down a flight of stairs the same day? Never happened before. I was NOT looking forward to today.

For good reason. Heaving myself out of, or lowering myself into a chair takes all my effort and about five whole minutes. At times today I needed help getting up out of the chair, and I'm not kidding. I tried stretching, doing more squats, clasping my hands behind my back and raising up my arms (just a little), and more stretching. Last evening, I went for a 45 minute walk with my dog, allowing her to pull me up the hills. All of this was my determination to keep the blood pumping and get the lactic acid out of those muscles!

Didn't work. I have not been in this much pain in many a year.

I have never been more thankful for the disabled grab bars in the bathroom at work. I needed them today, and was reminded--painfully, but thankfully--that my pain and soreness was a result of my fully-functioning body going through a wide variety of strengthening exercises. And I have no complaints. Whatsoever.

Tomorrow I get to go back. We're doing core conditioning. On the floor. I hope I can put myself down upon it.

And Hello, Booty Camp!

It begins tomorrow morning, 7 a.m. Think of me, please, and send little thoughts of sympathy as I start doing crunches, or leg lifts, or running in circles--really, only the trainer knows what's in store as I try to survive Boot Camp. I was coerced into attending by a nice-sounding guy at the gym, who just happened to call my business today. He must have heard a cry for help in my voice, because he not only seemed to understand that I needed a little kick in the ass to get myself to the gym again, but he had me signed up before I could say "drop and give me twenty."

It's an 8-week, 3-times-a-week class. That's only 24 hours. I can do it. Only trouble is, I think I heard him say something about a "cleanse." I don't know what their idea of cleansing is, but if it requires me to give up caffiene and/or alcohol, I will not be partaking of that part of the program. My life is nothing without coffee and wine.

And suddenly, I'm remembering boot camp scenes from An Officer and a Gentleman in which Richard Gere is weeping. Dear lord.

Updates to come. Painful, sore, can't-walk-normally updates. Hopefully, the weeping will be quick and quiet.

Finally, It's Summertime!

The temperature is about seventy degrees, a light wind blows, and there is nary a cloud in the sky. Finally, the perfection that is the Pacific Northwest summer has arrived. Only this year, Mother Nature is a little off in her timing. Instead of looking forward to two months of glorious weather--our "get outside and stay there" weather--the calendar on the wall features a flame-orange maple tree and I know that the rains of autumn are soon arriving. Instead of reading on the porch tonight until 10 p.m., the sun will set at 7:36 p.m. (This according to The Original Farmer's Almanac.)

Our season of cocooning has already begun. We're watching more movies, reading more books, and staying in the house. Our Netflix queue is becoming an important topic of discussion. We're planning Thanksgiving already, for godssake.

But not today. Today, we'll squeeze the sun as hard as we can. We'll pour it over ourselves, and feel it soak into our skin. We'll hold onto it tight, and turn it into a memory.

Because this glorious sunshine week is likely the last we'll have until next summer. And that seems like a very long way off.

I'm Not Angry Anymore

Today's topic, boyz and gurlz, is anger management. Now, anger can really get the best of one, can't it? Reading over my last couple of posts, I understand what this blog writing thing is all about. For me, anyway. It's about the venting and bitching and spewing our opinions to anyone who will read them. And even [as in my case] if almost no one reads them.

And isn't that a much healthier way to release the anger than, say, punching a wall and breaking your hand, not that we know anyone who has ever done that (love you, sweetie).

And then I cannot help but to think of my mother. A stay at home mom who also helped my dad run a business for 40 years while raising eleven 11 eleven 11 children who were born approximately every 1.5 to 2 years from 1949 to 1970. Jesus. What did she do with all of those feelings, frustrations, and worries about whether she was doing it right?

What did she do with the anger? Can you imagine how pissed off at us kids she was--daily? She didn't really yell--not like I would, were I in her shoes. She didn't even drink! How did she deal? She had Mary (the mother of our lord) and she had Mass (every day of her life). She had a few friends she could sneak a phone call to when the house was quiet enough to talk for the three or four minutes between someone being pushed down the stairs or screaming bloody murder because their doll had been decapitated.

She didn't have a blog, or a diary, or the time to write anything. Ever.

And I think about how lucky I am. If I couldn't write every day, I would be much less, well. . . pleasant than I am. This cathartic practice is all I need to purge the shitty stuff from my core. This, I can manage.

I'm So Glad The Bitch Is Gone

And the drama continued. . . for a little while. After not-so-loyal employee M. declared her acceptance of a job offer "she couldn't turn down," I was pissed. I vented and bitched to anyone who would listen. What the hell? How could someone use people (me and the hub for instance) so easily and then, KNOWING that leaving their employ puts them in difficult spot (like they don't get to take a vacation this year because now that you were trained properly you fucking QUIT) leave anyway?

I know I'm from another generation. Well, baby boomers, I'm here to tell you that we completely rock. Thank god we got a semblance of work ethic from our parents because the exes and whys are little self-absorbed brats with no idea how they should act in the world. NO idea whatsoever.

I think D. is an X-er. In fact, a lot of my friends (all younger than me, isn't everyone?) are X-ers. They have very good work habits and ethics, so let me rephrase: it's the twenty-somethings, who IN MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE are completely at a loss when it comes to comprehending how to conduct oneself in the workplace. Overheard recently by one who works about 35 hours per week: We work way too much.

Continuing my saga: the day after Miss Thang announced her departure, I was ready to show her the door. She lied to us, after all. I do not deserve that. No one does. I don't care how you interview for your next job, but try to avoid the lying to the person who is currently making the whole Food, Shelter, Clothing thing possible for you, n'kay? Do not insult my intelligence.

Then I noticed that her computer monitor was currently occupied by a game of Solitaire. Very nice. Are you playing SOLITAIRE? I asked incredulously. Get this: her answer was well, I was until HE (CUSTOMER) came in. Wrong answer, honey. D. and I invited her into our office, told her either work your two weeks or don't be here, thanks for the disrespect by the way, and what do you plan to do? "I'm sorry, I want to be here. I'm really sorry." Fine, go along now.

M. went to lunch shortly thereafter.

She never came back.

She didn't come back! No calls, no emails, no nothin'.

A couple of hours after she left, she texted a co-worker "I'm not coming back. Come and get my key." Yes, we trust losers like this with keys to our business.

D. called her cell. Not surprisingly, no answer. Bring your key back TODAY and by the way, I'm SHOCKED at your behavior.

A little while later her MOTHER shows up with the key.

I can only imagine the look on MY mom's face if I asked her, "Oh, I quit my job and today they made me angry, so I'm not going back EVER, and oh, will you please please please take this key back to the mean people who have paid me very well and paid my health insurance and all kinds of bonuses and helped me move a few weeks back? Please mom?"

Mmmmm hmmmmmm. My mom would have kick my butt all the way down the street and grounded me for life before she'd have done that.

Spoiled. Coddled. Spineless. Unappreciative. Insipid.

I'm so glad she's gone. And now, I'm done bitching about it.

Loyalty? What Loyalty?

You know it's going to be a bad Monday when a key employee walks into your office first thing in the morning.

"I need to talk to you guys."

I heard the rest of your announcement about taking another job, but what's going through my mind is "Oh how shocking. Do you really think that we didn't know you were interviewing on Friday when you actually dressed decently for a change and took an extra-long lunch to take your mom out for lunch to cheer her up?" Nice lying, by the way. You almost convinced us that you were really doing just that.

Now, we realize that new opportunities come up. And we want only the best for the people who work here. And when it's time to move on, we expect that all will eventually do that. But guess what? Quitting after six months is shitty! People with decent upbringings and who possess a moral or two might consider doing the right thing and staying with good, fair employers who pay more than a living wage PLUS 100% of your health, dental and vision insurance, PLUS regular bonuses for doing a good job and who GAVE UP A SATURDAY IN JULY TO HELP YOU MOVE TO YOUR THIRD FLOOR APARTMENT. Hello? That alone is worth another six months!

You know the apartment about which I speak. It's the one where you got to take your against-the-rules dog whom you got to keep because we know the apartement manager and he loves us. It's the one where you didn't have to pay another pet deposit because we know the manager and he loves us.

When someone leaves after only six months, we might as well take thousands of dollars out of the pockets of all of us and throw it out the window. Don't you get that?

Effin' employees.

WTF?

Um, why is my post so squished together today? I tried to figure out what I did, but if anyone has any clues, let me know, 'kay?