the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Wherein I do a burpee and it has nothing to do with a bodily function

The business-class Internet service at my house has been out for five days now (I’m writing this from Tyrant’s very elegantly appointed living room), and on Friday while I was waiting for a technician to figure out the problem I snuck upstairs to fit in my quick 15-minute workout. No, I did not sneak upstairs to do anything else, you go ahead and get your mind right out of the trash, Kevin. Although, did I ever tell you about the time I had a doctor tell me, “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re allergic to your vibrator.”

What has your doctor told YOU today, haah?

Yep. A clinical diagnosis. When I got home I texted my friend Stacia: “Hey, how’s your day? Me? Oh, you know. I’m allergic to my vibrator.”

Her response: “What?! Well then you better slap some saran wrap on that thing!”

Yeah. That is way too crafty of an activity for me to attempt. Like, I might as well glue some googly eyes to it while I’m at it. Maybe knit it a little hat.

So, the 15-minute workout. Five rounds of five different exercises. I’ve been turning to this routine for over two years whenever I need to fit in some high intensity activity into my busy schedule. I did some searching and found the original YouTube video that inspired me:

(You can see a step-by-step breakdown of the workout here.)

Yeah, I know, the video is kind of porn-y. But if you watch any of the other videos she’s in you can’t help but find her totally adorable. So much so that I want her to come to my house and read me the Bible as I fall asleep.

The first time I attempted this routine I thought I was going to die during the third round of exercises. It doesn’t seem like it would be super intense but then all of a sudden I was performing those bridge poses and all I could think about was whether the puke was going to dribble down the side of my chin or shoot out of my mouth like confetti.

When I finally finished all five rounds I checked the timer and it said 23:04. Not bad, no. But here’s the thing about this routine. It’s a race against yourself. And when yourself is me, well doesn’t that just suck for you? Because there you are running two steps behind yourself and yourself has a note taped to her back that says EAT SHIT AND DIE, ME.

A few months ago I started attempting this routine more often because of all the travel I was doing, and I was slowly getting faster. I’d cut my time to about 18 minutes, and then for about a month I plateaued right there. So I started to look for ways to trim it even further. Yes, I could speed up the individual exercises, but I realized I was spending a lot of time between rounds walking around to catch my breath and sipping water. And then myself started sticking out her tongue and, you guessed it, making the jerk off motion. You’re stopping to catch your breath, me? How can you claim to be the valedictorian of anything?

Yeah, myself went there. Myself kind of knows how to push my buttons which is good when you’re looking for motivation to work out, but bad in the sense that people start to stare when you’re standing there screaming at yourself and punching yourself in the crotch.

So I started to trim the time I spent catching my breath. I’d do two rounds, catch my breath, another two rounds, catch my breath. Then I cut it down to catching my breath only once. Then, last Friday, I didn’t stop at all between rounds. And BOOM. I set my personal best time.

hiit

I don’t know how much faster I can get, we’ll see, but that’s an almost nine minute difference from when I first started this routine. And I’m really damn proud of that progress. Myself over there is doing the slow clap.

NOTE: do not attempt this routine without first consulting an expert or a doctor or maybe even the Holy Ghost. If you do attempt it, feel free to share your thoughts and time and the creative obscenities you’re shouting at yourself.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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