Workin It.

Ya know, there really is no way to impart the marvelousness of the humble endorphin. Endorphins are endogenous opioid polypeptide compounds. That's right. I wiki'd it. The key word here being opioid. As in "opiate", as in narcotic. As in heroin and morphine. I now realize that when my body was telling me it felt bad, it was actually telling me that it was going through withdrawals, that it is addicted to opiates and craves larger and larger doses. I shudder to think about how I will tell my family and friends that I'm a junkie. That I crave the feeling, the power, the lure of the drug. I will gladly sell my grandmother for an hour on the treadmill. That's right. You heard me. GLADLY. And her little dog, too. Fugly yapping thing is useless anyways. The dog, that is.

Anyways, I've totally revamped my entire workout strategy, and have reverted to the 80's aerobics workouts, complete with headband and spandex. The guy that invented Spandex should be knighted. Anyways, how this bit of unbelievableness occurred is this: I was thinking about how to upgrade my sweating, grunting, boringass workouts and improve them, when lo and behold, I saw a bunch of aerobic tapes whilst perusing Amazon.ca for something to read. While sitting on my procrastinating ass, yes. I was intrigued enough to read the reviews, and decided that really, who doesn't want to look like an aerobics instructor?? So I ordered the 4 DVD set, little understanding what I was getting into. Dear God.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I can run forever. I can lift weights for an hour and a half. I do yoga regularly, and have great flexibility. But to do them all at the same time? What kind of sadist thinks this stuff up? This (witch) instructor just about killed me. I sailed (ok, maybe sailed is a bit optimistic) through the first DVD, but only made it halfway through the second, where, panting and trembling, I had to stop or explode. And so I sat there, shaking and drooling, numbly questioning the meaning of Life. Is it to die, panting and wheezing, like a dehydrated dog on the side of a Death Valley road? Or is the meaning of Life to persist, to scrabble hand over scraped, raw hand, ever higher up the sheer cliff of insanity, just to risk plummeting to one's CO2 saturated death at the foot of a pile of inanimate rubble? WELL?

Well. I persisted. I am still only on the second DVD, but I can do the entire thing now, albeit with a few breaks along the way. Easy. Sure. The third DVD leers at me from the shelf, taunting me. Grinning malevolently. Holy Great Mother Of All That Is Good, please let me live another day.

PS I look HOT.

:)