catheroominations

Tonight was Matte’s Christmas party and because I was going to be unveiled as the “fiancée, upgrade” I thought I should look especially hot. So I dug out my most padded bra to add that little oomph to my otherwise lacking décolletage. I was sporting some seriously slammin’ cleavage, folks. It was as if becoming an engaged woman had boosted my boobage. I knew Matte’s co-workers wouldn’t remember that part of me from before and therefore would not know I was enhanced by modern science. They’d think it was all me, baby, and later would say, “Wow! Did you see how hot Matte’s fiancée is?”

Whatever.

Who do we sit down next to at dinner? Ms. Scarlett Johansson from the neck down, that’s who. My chest was dwarfed by her natural “talents.” And boy howdy, was that bustline magnificently accessorized! She wore a gorgeous diamond necklace that I was drooling over, and noticed instantly when she walked into the room. (I doubt most of the people at the party saw that necklace, but most of them were pigs men.) I struck up a conversation with “Scarlett” to find out where she got her jewelry, but our conversation was interrupted, so I never got my answer.

Later, I suggested to Matte that he ask her more about her necklace, as if he were going to buy me one for Christmas (I want that damn necklace). Basically, I invited my hot-blooded American male to go stare closely at another woman’s ample chest while I left the room. Am I a kick-ass fiancée, or what?

When I returned from the bathroom, I asked Matte if he got any scoop from her.

He claimed to have not heard a word she said due to large amount of blood rushing to his head. <sigh>

…and 15 or so brave boot campers showed up this morning to have a bite of it.

One of the more pleasant things about working out at 6 am is that I sometimes get to experience a beautiful sunrise. Today, there was none. Instead, we were pummeled greeted by rain. I am wet through my three layers. My gloves are drenched. When I placed my elbows on my mat to assume the plank position, I heard the squelchy sound of water oozing through the foamy pores of the cushiony mat. The water soon seeped through my sweatshirt, to the long-sleeved t-shirt and further to my skin. So I moved from elbows to hands. A bit more intense, but I thought the gloves would offer some dry protection. No. The fleece. It absorbs water too. So much for that idea.

Luckily my baseball cap provided some shelter for my face, so I could still see what I was supposed to be doing. (Upon arriving home, I removed said cap to reveal a lovely hairdo, similar to a mullet.) When we got ready to leave camp, I picked up my heavy mat, wringing out the man-sized sponge, and waded back to the car. I can hardly wait to get back into the car in my nice, warm, clean work clothes only to sit in the moist (Ali hates that word) driver’s seat.

Dammit, boot camp is fun!*

*No, seriously. It is fun. I love it.**

**I’m not kidding. I do. I love it.***

***No, REALLY!

And do you all like the new, festive look Matte gave my blog?

I have only one more week of boot camp, and then a long break until the next session begins in late January. I don’t like such a long break, so I might have to join another boot camp group for the few weeks we’re off. I don’t want to erase everything I am doing now. Besides, I’m kind of addicted to it. I even miss it on the weekends. I am one sick individual, yes.

My hamstring is much better after days of sitting on bags of frozen peas and taking it (relatively) easy. Earlier this week, we broke into teams, based on athletic ability. We did what they call Indian relays, where runners are in a single file line, and the person in the back runs to the front of the line, jogs a few strides, and then the runner in the back goes to the front, and so on. (It seemed only fair to keep the hobblers together.) Team Gimp consisted of Shin Splint, Tweaked Back, Bad Knee, and Pulled Hamstring. But we’re all well now. Today I even ran around the grassy knoll twice. That’s TWO times! Running! OMG, y’all! And one of the trainers complimented me on my push-ups today. I was once taught to try and touch my nose to the floor when doing a push-up, so I drop pretty low. So what if I do them on my knees? I got a gold star for my form, so there.

But the best thing about this boot camp? They do Happy Hour. It’s not officially sanctioned by the boot camp organizers (oh, and it’s not at 6 a.m. of course), but if we get big enough beers, we could count hammer curls. That’s my kind of exercise!

I have The Weathergirls on my iPod.

I need new music.

Please recommend an album. Tell me the last one you bought. My music collection needs an extreme makeover.

I kicked my own ass today at bootcamp. For the first time since starting this daily torture routine, I was able to run the entire grassy knoll. That’s right. I ran the whole thing. This is probably not very impressive to many of you, but did I mention the grassy knoll is 5 miles around? Well, it isn’t. I don’t know how far around it is, all I know is that until today I couldn’t run the whole way around it.

I was doing so well. I wasn’t tired, or sore, or even panting excessively.

After that, I lifted my weights and did my chest presses. I walked with ankle bands around my legs and did my best John Wayne impression, going up, then down the hill. Then it came time to run some more.

Yeowch. What was that weird pulling sensation?

It was my left hamstring. You know the old joke: A man walks into a doctors office and says “Doc, it hurts when I do this.” and the doctor says “Then stop doing that.” I told my trainer it hurt when I ran, and she told me to stop running. Apparently one of my workout buddies was suffering the same ailment, so I was sent back to my mat to join her for push-ups and crunches instead of continuing the cardio workout. She warned me not to stretch my hamstring today, to ice it, and to take some Advil. As I type, I am sitting on a bag of frozen peas.

I think from now on, I will not crank the heater in the car when I drive to bootcamp. I get all nice and warm and then I am thrust into the frigid air and made to move around at a semi-quick pace and my muscles say “Oh, hell to the no!” and tighten up on me.

I hope it feels better tomorrow because I am (I can’t believe I am admitting this) actually liking bootcamp. It’s feels good to get out there and work out. I feel a great sense of accomplishment. By 7 am I have completed a challenging workout, before many folks are even awake. Plus, it feels good to do something to improve my health. Sure, it’s early. And dark. And cold. But it’s also fun.

Well, except for the pulled muscle part.

Is it the bootcamp workout that has exhausted me? The rising at o’dark thirty, before the sun is up? The blogging every day for thirty days? Or the wine tasting after work today?

Whichever it is, I’m wiped out. I’m trying to stay awake to watch a recorded episode of Standoff, but I might not last that long and Grey’s Anatomy will have to wait until tomorrow.

But I said I’d try to post something every day, even now that NaBloPoMo is over, and I don’t lie. I flake, yes, but I don’t lie. Because when I was little, I loved Pinocchio and that movie taught me that lying was wrong. I believed that little wooden boy so much that I used to touch my nose on the rare occasion when I did lie and I’d wait for it to grow. It never did, but still. I don’t want my pants on fire, so I don’t lie. Except to lie down and go to sleep, which sounds like a marvelous idea, so I think I’ll go do that. Nighty-night.

Last night I was exponentially more sore (sorer?) than I was after Monday’s bootcamp session.

I sat on the couch last night with my feet on the coffee table. It was comfortable. Comfortable, that is, until I had to get up. When the urge hit, I had to place my hands behind my knees and pull my knees slightly toward me, to remove my feet from the table. Then I dropped my feet to the floor, and try to stand. To do this, I placed my hands on either side of my hips, and used my upper body to hoist myself off the cushion. Then I tried to straighten my legs to walk, but I needed to use the coffee table for support and to help launch me to a straight, standing position. My thighs and calves were so tight, I walked like I was 85 years old. Actually, more like an 85-year old Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. But this 85 year-old Tin Man waddles like waterfowl a little bit.

Yesterday at work I had to use the large bathroom stall so I could support myself with the helpful bars on the walls. It’s a good thing I have a filter that kept me from yelling “OW!” outloud each time I had to use the facilities.

To get out of my car, I had to grab onto the roof with my right hand and the door with my left, to lift myself out of the seat. I made the mistake of going to lunch in a coworker’s Audi TT yesterday, and almost had to spend the rest of the day in the car because I was stuck.

I kept dropping things too. And I could not pick them up like a normal person, because I was unable to squat. Instead, I had to bend at the waist to reach. And since my hamstrings were so tight, I had to spread my legs a little bit in order to grab what I dropped. I had to perform this in front of someone’s desk when a piece of cantaloupe fell off my plate as I walked by. I would have left it there on the floor, but the dude saw me drop it and heard me say dammit. I didn’t say dammit because I dropped something, but because I had to attempt to get it up off the floor.

Today is a long run. At least jogging will help loosen things up. I think. I hope. I’ll probably look ridiculous, like a running penguin. But everyone loves penguins.