Two weeks into my Metabolic Training class and somehow that qualifies me to sport my “Super Woman” cape and refer to myself as ‘Super Spanky’.
Weird Trainer man has set up 2 competitions within his class.
1) Body percentage/Fat Loss competition
2) “Pull Up” competition
Now, why I opted to sign up for both is beyond any type of comprehension. I saw the list of who was doing what and for some reason; my testosterone kicked in and my brain said, (in my best macho man voice) “I will do both of them!” (Insert superhero music).
My interpretation of pull ups is similar to this:
Notice my impeccable form and my impressively long arms. I brought sexy back today and I know that my peers were intimidated.
Now let me show you what my competition looked like:
I’m screwed. If my mouth hadn’t written a check that my body can’t cash, I would be blogging about sunshine and rainbows right now. But because I’m ‘Lippy Von Lipster’ I now have two options. Eat crow, or run away.
Coordination is hard. My trainer won’t let me wear my helmet and knee pads and I think it’s absolutely absurd that he would allow me to sign up for such an event given my track record.
I tried to take it back, but he gave me that really annoying ‘pep talk’ crap. “I know that you can do this, you’ll do great!”
Ok first of all, you’re PAID to talk out your ass. Secondly, you don’t know me. You’ve known me for 7 days and quite frankly, I think you’re snowballed. I show up for training and put my ‘big girl pants on’ so I don’t look like a pussy bed wetter in front of everyone else. However, it’s a much, much different painting when I get home. Insta-5 year old comes out and I end up in the fetal position, whimpering to myself because every fricking inch of my body hurts.
(All of the above was said in my head. I didn’t actually regurgitate all of that in person.)
So I’m stuck. My “I am woman” (hands beating chest) rant that I displayed is now in full force and I have no choice but to act accordingly.
Excuse me while I go dig out my cape.