These Arms of Mine....

If Mary hadn’t been such a trooper yesterday, and I weren't so competitive, I probably would have called the whole thing off because it was so durn cold.




Hind sight, right?




Walking group: One of the greatest joys of the dieting career. I love getting together with other women and solving the world’s problems while pounding the pavement. And much to my surprise, Lee Ann was back in full force last night! (You may recall she has been out for a while because of a hurt foot.)




After hugs and screaming with joy, (which is pretty funny cause I just saw her new years eve, but I couldn’t contain myself!) I said “C’mon, we have to go to the sporting goods store. I couldn’t get my hand weights out of Matt’s car because the hatch was frozen.”




So off we fly to the sports store in the mall, one of the remaining places of business left in our trainwreck of a shopping center, to fetch me some wrist weights. Because I told ya’ll that I was going to carry weights. I have done enough sitting on the pot. It was time for me to poop or get off. Therefore, I decided that I would go for broke.




At the sports store, there were 3 pairs of weights I could attach to my wrists. (I love my hand held weights, but A. They were hopelessly stuck inside Zippy the Wonder car, and B. I have arthritis in my fingers. Have had it for years. I always forget about it till winter comes around. Once the temperature gets freezing, I am given a vivid reminder of the fact my fingers get stuck in a position for hours. Which means I can’t type well. And that is like giving me laryngitis for a year. Cause I write all the time. It’s my link to sanity.) I figured that if I got wrist weights I could still have the benefit of the weights for my flabby arms without my hands hurting from carrying them. It was a win win situation.




We looked at the different weights (or tried to, anyway. Me and my impatience!) but the Nike pair looked like something from the wardrobe department of the movie “Blade.” They were bulky and cumbersome with the possibilities of massive destruction should I start talking erratically with my hands flying for added dramatics. The other set were rather flat, seemed to fit the contour of my wrists better, and were the same price as the Nike ones, so I grabbed them and we took off for the counter to pay for them. Granted, Lee Ann wanted to open the box and really check them out. I, in my haste, went completely by the picture presented on the box and thought to myself “that’ll do, pig.” (Not calling myself a pig, but quoting a movie. My life is a series of movie quotes. Do you know what that quote is from?)




Leaving the box at the counter and strapping those babies on before I got my change back, I was prepared to walk. Except that the pockets of my jacket are shallow, and I needed to stick the change in my bra. I should have done it before I put the weights on. Cause they were bulkier than I thought. The weights, not my boobs. I already KNOW those are bulky. The thought crossed my mind to have Lee Ann do it, but I wisely let that thought go. I awkwardly shoved an envelope of money and coins into my bra. I looked like I had a very cold 3rd nipple, but that was fine. It was time to walk!




Leaving the store, we checked for anymore who would be joining our throng, met up with Theresa, and started our laps. We have all been slacking. On the exercise part, anyway. So maybe at first we were walking a teensy bit slower than normal. But as we warmed up, we definitely picked up speed. And just as I had envisioned, I was swinging my arms, that weighed 5 pounds more each, with gusto. I didn’t knock anyone out with them, just kept moving them. And my fingers weren’t hurting at all!




But those crazy wrist weights were making me feel it in the back of my arm. Remember yesterday when I said (and I quote): “For tonight, though, I am back to carrying weights when I walk. I probably have to go back to the little fellers, cause there is no way my arms would handle carrying the 5 pounders. YET. So there's a goal.” Those words came back to taunt me as I realized I was in fact carrying 5 pounds of baggage on my arms. Not in a good way, like “yay, you are pushing yourself and working towards your goal” but more like “What in the H-E-double hockey sticks were you thinking???”




Weights are tricky. With the hand held boogers, I remember that I am carrying weights and my body adjusts the center of gravity accordingly. But with the wrist weights, my body thought, since I wasn’t carrying anything, that things were status quo. Which they were most certainly not. The whole night I kept having to pull back my steps because my arms were leading me forward. I felt as though I was walking like this…




(that’s my adorable nephew, by the way. He’s a hoot!)




So that was causing me to work extra hard (single soap opera tear and violins for poor Charlie) while walking. Finally, we got on our last lap, and the end was near. THANK GOODNESS!!! Those 5 laps were tougher than I thought they would be.




I left Lee Ann and Theresa by the bathrooms because I had to pee. (Big surprise, right?) As I got into the stall, I realized I didn’t have time to unstrap the weights on my wrists, and I had to go soooooo bad that I was left with no choice but to work around them. As I started to pull down my pants, the hook and loop on the weights became enamored with the attractive side of my sweat pants. And it got stuck. I’m trying to fight very hard to unstuck myself so I can drop the drawers and pee. I’m clenching my muscles, doing “bagels” as we call them, to hold in the result of my drinking 40 ounces of water before I left the house. And I couldn’t get my pants down!




Finally, I gave one good downward shove of my sweat pants and unders (as Hillary likes to call them) and got myself exposed to the air. Immediately I sat down (I am sincerely hoping that the bathroom had just been cleaned and there was cleaner on the seat, otherwise I sat in someone else’s pee. But it was too late to care at that point.) and let ‘er rip.



AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Relief at last!





Sitting in the afterglow of finally being able to pee, I grabbed toilet paper and headed down to wipe. Which is exactly when I punched myself right in the babymaker with a 5 pound wrist weight.




Seriously, I hit my goodie patch, or my (for lack of a better less graphic term) pubic bone, about the place that all my hair has decided to start going grey where I can see it but it isn’t safe to color so I ignore it as long as I can till I get my husband’s clippers out and buzz cut the little suckers…. because I was so lost in the thrill of finally peeing that I forgot I had a HUGE bulky mass on the arm and it hit me in just the right spot.




So today my arms hurt, my knees hurt, and I couldn’t ride a horse if I wanted too. But I got in 10,000 steps yesterday. And my pedometer loves me.




So do the makers of Advil.