J-E-L-L-O

I’m not an athlete. I’ve never BEEN an athlete. I am pretty uncoordinated – in fact, judging from the number of huge, dark bruises on my legs right now, I might go so far as to say VERY uncoordinated.

I’m an ace at shooting baskets, but don’t ask me to run and dribble at the same time. Just don’t. I can ice skate, roller skate and rollerblade; I can ski, mountain bike and hike. I choose not to rock climb because I’d rather not fall to my death into a large crevasse. I can kayak, and I like to, but am too big of a wuss to try navigating rough water. Which is strange, because I love the water. I’m a fast swimmer and I’m good at it. Probably because there’s no danger of falling down.

I have a love/hate relationship with running. I love it, but when faced with putting on my shoes and actually moving, I hate it. Walking is too slow, and the elliptical works, but running is my thing. It doesn’t require a lot of coordination – just don’t fall off the treadmill or if you’re outside, run into other people. Simple. I can handle that.

So with that in mind, Mandy and I decided to go see a personal trainer. It’s someone Mandy’s seen a lot before, and she really likes her, so today I went for my first session. It was awesome – she’s totally nice and put me through an hour of weights, working me hard and focusing on my legs. I didn’t feel like we overdid it, she pushed me, but it was fine.

Until I had to walk. “HA!” my legs said. “You really think we’re going to carry you anywhere? THINK AGAIN!!” The gym is in the basement of this house, and so in order to get to it, you have to walk around the side of the house and down into the backyard. Which means walking up the hill to leave. I asked Mandy if she’d pull the car down to the door. She said no. I was only half-kidding, whereas she was totally laughing.

Have you ever seen “Men in Black”? You know when the alien takes over Vincent D’Onofrio’s body and he lurches around all the time because he’s not used to it? That’s how I felt. I had to walk carefully so that my legs, which somehow turned to jello between the gym and Mandy’s house, wouldn’t just stop working and pitch me face first into the grass where I would lay until someone took pity on me and carried me the final three feet to my car.

I know I’m prone to exaggeration, but I’m totally not kidding. I was contemplating getting to my front door – which is up a flight of stairs – and I actually thought “well, if all else fails, I can crawl on my hands and knees.” That’s just sad. I’m now sitting on my bed, wondering if I can just stay here indefinitely. I got up to answer the phone, which was in the other room, and my legs were like “Hey! What did we tell you about moving quickly? NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.” Damn.

Yes, yes. No pain, no gain. And I’m not complaining about the workout – it was awesome and I love to feel muscle soreness from lifting weights. It’s the staggering around like a drunk thing I have issues with. Especially since I have a job interview this afternoon and I don’t want them to be like “She’s either got a horrible problem with her balance and equilibrium, or she’s tanked. Can’t hire her.” Boooo.

Now. I wonder if I can roll from my bedroom to the kitchen. I’m kind of thirsty.