This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

Up and over

Ever since fracturing my foot during the NYC marathon last November, I’ve had nothing but difficulty establishing a consistent workout schedule. Why, yes, this is about my first world problem. Sit down with your diet soda beverage, pull up your designer chair manufactured in China and let’s discuss! I’ll bring the finger sandwiches made with gluten-free bread.

First the foot, then both of my IT bands started screaming at me. Then life flung my hands off of the steering wheel for awhile and swerved all over the road. I’d get a workout in here, one there, maybe an hour on the spin bike once a week if I was lucky. Just as I was getting a pattern down I sprained my ankle over the Fourth of July holiday doing nothing but a simple jumping exercise. And I went down hard. Like, to the floor. The pain was bad, yes, but there I was crying on the floor of the gym like a goddamn baby because of frustration. Also, I may have been on my period. During that time of the month I will cry because my salad is so beautiful.

Just look at the edges on that leaf of arugula.

I’ve had to take it slowly since then, but I got back on the spin bike this morning and kept reminding myself that it would take some time to work back up to the endurance I once had. So I did not try to keep up with the almost 70-yr-old man on the bike next to mine. He was the hare, I was the turtle, except in this version of the fable the turtle just pulls its head into its shell and goes to sleep.

That man still has all of his hair and his skin is gorgeous. Either he’s Mormon and has lived over six decades without putting nasty things into his body, or he routinely eats babies. If it’s the latter, my god, I hope I can get them in bulk at Costco.

Afterward I was so encouraged that I had finished the whole hour that I left the spin room with an uncharacteristic lilt in my step. Such a lilt that I think it may have jostled my brain a bit. Because I walked over to a pull-up bar and stood underneath it with the crazy idea that I might try and execute that exercise. What? You can do 50 pull-ups at a time? Awesome. I just baked a pan of cookies. You can have all of them. Right after I poke you in the butt with the end of a broom.

I’ve tried pull-ups again and again. It’s been one of those exercises that confounds me. I can’t find the right muscles, or if I do find them I can’t train them to fire at the right time. So many times I have looked up at that bar and chickened out. But not today. No, today I took off my spin shoes, stood there and visualized my back doing all of the work, and then jumped up and grabbed the bar. After hanging there for a few seconds… I pulled my entire body up and my head above the bar.

And then I did it again.

Two. I did two pull-ups.

This is the wimpiest case of bragging you’re going to read today.

But I don’t care. This is huge. I needed this win. If I had been in a pool of water I would have splashed it like a crazed Michael Phelps after learning he had just won a race by 1/100th of a second. Now just waiting for my two pull-up endorsement deal from a major sports brand.

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