Okay so it's been snowing like...like it's January in northern Indiana I guess. Fine. I accept it in January. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. In fact I hate it. I hate winter. Fine. It looks pretty out. And I can admire it if I don't have to leave the house. But unfortunately, I do.
I am a panicked, white-knuckled, winter driver. I despise every second of it. I am constantly convinced that I will die before I arrive home. I just turn on a CD and sing along to take my mind off of the impending doom that I am sure awaits me at the start of every new mile. So today, I canceled lessons while at the church and headed home to Warsaw.
Where did I have my car incident? You may imagine that it was on State Road 19 where I had to drive around multiple buggies who were out in this weather just to make road conditions that much more hazardous for the rest of us. Wrong. Or perhaps it occurred on 800, a road that is frequently traveled but is treated like an isolated road in the Yukon territory that leads nowhere for all the plows and salt trucks that go down it. Nope. Perhaps it was in town where there are dangerous median strips made of sticky snow down the middle that just want to pull your car into oncoming traffic when you're trying to turn. Wrong again. No, the incident occurred outside my own garage door. I attempted to make the turn into the garage when my car immediately got stuck. Completely stuck. I could go in reverse - barely - but I could not move forward. I kept hopping out to see what massive bank of snow I must be stuck in. But there didn't appear to be anything there but freshly plowed pavement. I kept rocking the car from reverse to forward. Then I got angry and tried to will it forward by angrily punching the accelerator. The only result: a foul smell. I got out the shovel and shoveled a little bit of nothing. The minutes ticked by and it just got more and more ridiculous. There didn't appear to be anything there to keep my car from moving forward. Finally I just reversed her down the alley, got her moving forward, and parked her in front of the house. Frankly I think she's just real ticked at me for taking her out in this crap. So, If Brian wants the car in the garage he'll have to deal with it himself.
Stupid winter.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
What the fit?
This morning I did something I never dreamed in a million years that I would do.
I joined a gym.
Now before you go thinking this is some sort of new year's resolution band wagon I'm jumping on, please know that I was supposed to sign up at the beginning of December and simply used my powers of procrastination to make my timing look unseemly. And the gym I'm joining is called "The Health and Wellness Center," and is part of our hospital campus/complex. I like the idea of being healthy and well - doesn't everyone? So, there I was this morning at 8:00 being asked to do push-ups (How many can I do lady? The answer is 0.), being hooked up to heart monitors and being walked on a treadmill like a lab-rat, having pulses sent through my body to see how fat I am (yeah, plenty-much), and being asked to display my flexibility (I think I pulled something).
This journey began with my friend Felicia and I deciding to train for a 5-K. It ended with the weather turning bitterly cold, too cold to run outside, but deciding we didn't want to quit exercising altogether. So one day last fall we made a date to tour every fitness venue in town. Turns out, that is a lot of fun. The thought of finding a place to get fit is quite a bit more enjoyable than the actual "getting fit" part. So our first stop was Curves. That actually felt a little like we were being sold a time-share (if you've never been through that high-pressure experience I recommend AVOIDING IT!) except without the smarmy sales people. I guess it just felt a little gimmicky. But Felicia and I sat down for a health assessment - together - and let's just say there are no secrets between us now.
Part of that assessment was having our body fat index measured along with measurements of our hips, thighs, and other various body parts. Numbers were crunched, the results placed on a chart and the results were revealed. Basically, on a scale of 1 to instant death, we were both hovering near one month to live. We were told that we are both "technically obese." Surprise, surprise. Frankly I don't think it takes that much to hit that mark, and I'd been told it before so there was no shock there. So we left there, more grateful than ever for each moment we're not dropping dead.
We headed to the Health and Wellness Center and demanded a tour. It was more to our liking, a little more serious, a little more comprehensive. The nice woman who led us around then told us about some of the other offerings that the center had available. One was a weight control class. We were interested and wanted to hear more. She then, almost in a whisper, told us that the class is for people who are "technically obese, so we're dealing with some of the largest people in town here." Felicia and I exchanged a glance. Not fifteen minutes before this we had both been told we are "technically obese." We did not need further interpretation to understand what that was saying about us.
So as we toured the YMCA, complete with the scary weight room full of sweaty men, and then a fancy fitness studio that we felt under-dressed for, we found ourselves exclaiming things like, "Oops, I tripped. I guess that's what happens when you're some of the largest people in town" or "I'm surprised I can roll out this car what with being some of the largest people in town." That is part of the reason I love to work out with Felicia, that ability to laugh it off. So we laughed and toured and gathered information and coupons.
And then we went to lunch. (We'd worked up an appetite walking up and down all those stairs in these fitness places.)
So here we are, ready to start a new year, a healthier year. Let's hope this, unlike all the potato chips I so dearly love, will stick to my hips instead.
I joined a gym.
Now before you go thinking this is some sort of new year's resolution band wagon I'm jumping on, please know that I was supposed to sign up at the beginning of December and simply used my powers of procrastination to make my timing look unseemly. And the gym I'm joining is called "The Health and Wellness Center," and is part of our hospital campus/complex. I like the idea of being healthy and well - doesn't everyone? So, there I was this morning at 8:00 being asked to do push-ups (How many can I do lady? The answer is 0.), being hooked up to heart monitors and being walked on a treadmill like a lab-rat, having pulses sent through my body to see how fat I am (yeah, plenty-much), and being asked to display my flexibility (I think I pulled something).
This journey began with my friend Felicia and I deciding to train for a 5-K. It ended with the weather turning bitterly cold, too cold to run outside, but deciding we didn't want to quit exercising altogether. So one day last fall we made a date to tour every fitness venue in town. Turns out, that is a lot of fun. The thought of finding a place to get fit is quite a bit more enjoyable than the actual "getting fit" part. So our first stop was Curves. That actually felt a little like we were being sold a time-share (if you've never been through that high-pressure experience I recommend AVOIDING IT!) except without the smarmy sales people. I guess it just felt a little gimmicky. But Felicia and I sat down for a health assessment - together - and let's just say there are no secrets between us now.
Part of that assessment was having our body fat index measured along with measurements of our hips, thighs, and other various body parts. Numbers were crunched, the results placed on a chart and the results were revealed. Basically, on a scale of 1 to instant death, we were both hovering near one month to live. We were told that we are both "technically obese." Surprise, surprise. Frankly I don't think it takes that much to hit that mark, and I'd been told it before so there was no shock there. So we left there, more grateful than ever for each moment we're not dropping dead.
We headed to the Health and Wellness Center and demanded a tour. It was more to our liking, a little more serious, a little more comprehensive. The nice woman who led us around then told us about some of the other offerings that the center had available. One was a weight control class. We were interested and wanted to hear more. She then, almost in a whisper, told us that the class is for people who are "technically obese, so we're dealing with some of the largest people in town here." Felicia and I exchanged a glance. Not fifteen minutes before this we had both been told we are "technically obese." We did not need further interpretation to understand what that was saying about us.
So as we toured the YMCA, complete with the scary weight room full of sweaty men, and then a fancy fitness studio that we felt under-dressed for, we found ourselves exclaiming things like, "Oops, I tripped. I guess that's what happens when you're some of the largest people in town" or "I'm surprised I can roll out this car what with being some of the largest people in town." That is part of the reason I love to work out with Felicia, that ability to laugh it off. So we laughed and toured and gathered information and coupons.
And then we went to lunch. (We'd worked up an appetite walking up and down all those stairs in these fitness places.)
So here we are, ready to start a new year, a healthier year. Let's hope this, unlike all the potato chips I so dearly love, will stick to my hips instead.
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