chapter twenty eight: dodging bullets

this past sunday was pretty amazing for endorphin junkies. now that i'm a seasoned veteran in the art of bullet dodging, i hopped over the bridge and played matrix all afternoon with my 6 awesomely hot tickets. yes this class was all girls, lead by the famously girlicious kimbells and nix. too bad all our names didn't rhyme. i think it'd be safe to assume we'd dominate in any form of speed dating. we have been working on flexibility a lot lately.

you know any exercise that's named after an action movie is going to definitely make you seem a little more raw. it would have been more fitting for me to be wearing a leather outfit... and that's not only because we broke out the dominatrix leg straps again. flexibility and sexy scapulas have been upgraded to priority on sundays. the next step in total domination would be the sexy stilettos lap dance classes, and hair-ography. it's safe to say we're officially using our girl powers to the best of our abilities.

what's a girl gotta do to be taken seriously around here? i think it may have something to do with anything black and anything lace. throw in a bit of hip disassociation, figure eight styles, and you're in business. boys, are you interested?

chapter twenty seven: x and some milk

nothing used to get the day started better than a cup of tea, a bowl of yogurt and granola, and the ladies of the view spewing about their dirty, filthy sex lives. over the last month, i've learned another shocking piece of valuable information. there is one more ingredient that will better your daily performance. 45 minutes of x, and you're ready to tanto that. hey tanto, jump on it, jump on it.

drove my honda to the gym today, and got there in six minutes. and when i say honda i obviously mean my new running shoes. this stuff works people, i don't even have a car and i'm walking so fast, it's like i'm going to win a prize or something. maybe it's that i feel like i'm always in some sort of race. on your mark, ready set let's go. and just like that i'm off shaking my tail feather all the way over the cambie street bridge.

hold the presses everybody. after a long and exhausting search through all the spectacular ab jams we've done throughout the course of the last month. i have, most certainly, found the funnest ab workout, this side of russell simmons sequined booty shorts. (yes i did just make the word 'funnest' up. i felt with any other word selection, the gravity of the situation would be down-played) this is all you'll need to play abs: one friend and a big ball. turn up the music and you'll be laughing in no time.

there is something i feel like i should also mention, as a safety precaution. only if you're interested in remaining at the top of your game. don't do too many bicep curls, or else you might not get a date. i'm just saying. men like to have bigger biceps than you. take it from madonna, she speaks from experience.

chapter twenty six: 31 points at half

hey, this is radio station EJone. we're taking calls on the wish line, making all your wacky wishes come true.

"i wish i was a little bit taller, i wish i was a baller. i wish i had a girl that looked good, and i would call her. i wish i had a rabbit in a hat with a bat and a six four impala."

ironic that i came to class today wearing my ball shorts and knee socks. maybe subconsciously i really do want to take this basketball thing more seriously. another x class tonight. i think x is slowly taking over, much like el nino.

my advice for those who are looking to improve their basketball skills, baseball skills, skiing skills, picking up groceries skills, looking crazy on the dance floor skills, or any other sort of skills that would help better your street cred would be: enroll yourself full time into endorphin junkies. i don't speak as an expert, or as anyone with any sort of authority. i only speak from my own meandering experience. i will formulate this information now:

100 + C 02 + max + rush + tall socks= 31 points at half

the proof is in the pudding. you'll be better at basketball, and your skinny jeans will look fly. don't ask questions

chapter twenty five: dance of the burning weave

tonight was day twenty five. that's one less than 6 days left. it's the junkie industry's most hated day of the year, assuming you don't count day twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine or thirty. or any statutory holiday. the night kicked off with a big, dynamic, EJ:x bang. mr junior gong took us out in broad day light and lied to us, insisting that he was, in fact, not teaching the class. all the while he was telling us to kick ourselves in the butt... literally. the junkie community hasn't been this excited since 80's night.

i was enjoying the class until sniffles kicked us out and it was my turn on the treadmill. since my boss mr junior gong was in charge of the cardio portion, i wasn't allowed to even yog. strictly speed walk. i stomped my way through 2 minutes like a clydesdale. and then there was the step... i would like to explain my art of side steps tonight. "if your quads feel like they're going to blow up, you're on the right track" isn't something i necessarily want to hear, considering i'm deathly afraid of loud noises. none the less, towards the latter part of my legs being ignited, i started to do the 'i'm going to muscle through this any way i can' dance. and i'm not talking a beyonce-esque little diddy, it shouldn't even be classified as a dance move. it was more like something you'd do when your weave is on fire. i was trying to get that flame out. and i don't even sell enough dope in my hometown to get myself a good weave.

why you dancing like that kitty cat? that's pretty inappropriate, this is a family gym. and where ever they are, the two kids i gave up for adoption shouldn't be seeing that. ahh, x.

not too long ago, i signed a contract in blood saying i was going to participate in a 30 day functional fitness challenge. this has been something (which i'm sure my fellow challengers can attest to) that has become more a part of my life now than picking up men at the grocery store. my 'other, non fitness-y' friends can't quite understand the time (and lack of street style) i've dedicated towards such a thing. what, you cant recognize me because i'm in a unitard?

chapter twenty four: premier holy shit package

"oh audrey, i look like hell! i got bags under my eyes. what's that? well if you were a man i'd punch you. punch you right in the mouth. that's bush, bush league. you hear me? audrey? look at me!" i concur. this challenge has had it out for my looks from the beginning. sweaty hair, red face, pale face, messy buns. sick sick sick. but lets be realistic, is it ever going to be acceptable to don a sparkly hair clip, or even a french braid? probably not, so we better start getting used to it ladies. there are other venues we can upgrade the high maintenance factor in, to make up for our steady increase of our exxxercise faces.

dirty, sexy EJ:x money was on the agenda first tonight. i wasn't originally intending on doing the class, but i thought to myself... what the hell? sniffles and sparky were on it like a cheap suit tonight. cardio to start. my legs are propelling themselves at this point. i don't have much going on mentally (on the best of days, let alone without sleep, food and constant slamming of my body) so i'm glad i'm starting to be on auto pilot. then it was kinesis time. i was just minding my own business, doing some more bicep curls when, "oh, sparky! i wasn't expecting company. just doing my workout. wednesdays are arms and back. oh, it's the deep burn. oh, it's so deep. i can barely lift my right arm i did so many. son of a bee-sting."

through the agility phase, i was mentally beating myself up. things like 'maybe i'll just leave and not do the release plus class' and 'why do i love thisssss?' but my final thought that pushed me round the bend to the end of the class was 'but just think of how sweet your buns will look, and imagine how much money you'll save not using a laundry machine.' so i pulled through, bent over, let all the blood rush to my head, and stood up as fast as i could. sniffles told me to.

news on the calves: i've scored my meal ticket and i'm on a hot trip back into running. well, not exactly running, it's this new fad called uh, jogging. i believe it's jogging, or yogging. it might be a soft 'j'. apparently you just run for an extended period of time. it's supposed to be wild. so i've re-introduced this into my routine this week, and i continued it for the release plus tonight. does everyones thighs jiggle when they run on the treadmill? i was looking at my reflection in the window whilst yogging, and i just thought that it looked hilarious.

i started off with the deep squats on the kinesis, which are always a laugh, but tonight it got funnier. i finished my last squat and felt a little tug on the bottom of my shorts. i turned around to deck the person trying to pants me in the middle of class, only to see big al smiling at me. after our 2-3 second lingering bout of eye contact, he smugly hissed "miss gems, you have a massive wedgie." pretending to be shocked, i placed my hand on my heart, gasped for air and replied "really? yes, i do. um, i'm sorry, it's the... it's the liner. it's uh, it's actually an optical illusion. it's the plaid on the shorts. it's not flattering in the glute-ial region. i'm actually taking them back right now. taking them back to the... to the shorts store. oh, this is akward."

and we stood there staring at eachother, trainer and young grasshopper, at a crossroad of life. i'll never forget what went through my mind at this specific moment in time. "someday, all of this junk will be gone."

i've also banned myself from group stretching while wearing my little shorts. the little buggers tend to creep on up, until clearly they've gone too far. it gets the attention of the class like there's a show that's about to begin. maybe when the junks out of the trunk, and i've upgraded myself to the premier holy shit package things will get a bit crazier. but until then, pg ej. that's a lot of letters.

chapter twenty three: tempo tuze

"my style can't be duplicated or recycled. this chick is a sick individual. east coast, west coast, down south represent your coast. we run this!" 90's way-back playback. we were all hyped up, and zoomed right through the throwback strive. (yes strive was amaza-za-za-zing as per usual. i actually taught the class [secretly] while big al called out what i was doing 3 seconds after. oh and i was the tempo for the cardio phase, because i'm like usain, but whiter, and female, and i don't run right now. ah, details. sorry girls, i just like my jumping fast. so bitch i will not about strive tonight, it's something different... read on pets)

while in my obviously perfect state of jumping jacks, i got to thinking: it's amazing how hooked on phonics we are all getting about all this crazy ish. i know i'm not the only mental one out there that just needs another hit. and then i realized, there are two types of people i've come across in my many, many years of existence. one, is the kind of person who is down to try anything once. most of these people i've managed to drag into a strive class with me. yes i have popped the junk in the trunk cherry many-a-time in my knee deep relationship with the junkies.

the others are intimidated. maybe by the intensity, maybe by their name (suggesting a follow up appointment in rehab? "i'm going to go see dr. finklestein, tell him we have a whole new bag of issues. i'm hooked on endorphins") maybe it's because every single trainer is a smoke show? i'm just throwing ideas out there. it's like i invite these people and get a similar response:

"i apologize to you if i don't seem real eager to jump into the craziest, most intense sweat that people like to call "EJ". i'm scared of the feeling. you're running there, you're wondering do i have sweat on my face, am i breathing, am i talking too much, are they watching me enough? am i not interested, but i pretend like i'm interested? should i play like i'm interested when i'm not that interested, but i think they might think i'm not interested but do i want to be interested now they're not watching? so all of the sudden i'm totally interested... and now i'm hyperventilating? do i have to wait for a break cause then it's awkward, it's like well i suck and can't breathe. do you do like that ass-out breathing? where you like, you hold onto your knees and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to faint, or do you just go right down and lie on the floor? it's very difficult trying to read the situation."

and all the while i'm just counting down the minutes until i get to be hopped up enough to make some bad decisions after class! oh ya.

it's truly unfortunate that not everyone can experience such a high. i get high every single day, sometimes even twice a day. a positive thought about this: i don't crave cheetos. i crave the burn in my sweet, sweet abs. i also like to brag about how many bicep curls i can do, "i don't know if you heard me counting, but i did over a thousand." truth. if i had my way, i'd get everyone off their butt butts and into a strive. what do you think makes my tush look so sweet in my jeans, slick?

my next wondering is for you endorphin junkies, what are you going to do for an encore? walk on water?

chapter twenty two: skittles in the reservoir

so here we go with a cardio class. to be honest, the last time i did a cardio class i wanted to die. actually die. so i've been a little apprehensive, you could call it that, to jump back on that pogo stick , if you know what i mean. although this is a class that i can't get kicked out for my spastic hand-eye coordination, i can still get kicked out for giving my trainers the finger. watch out now!

i was trying to escape out the back, when i heard "gems, the bike." i was left with no choice but to cover my ears and shake my head from side to side. i was silent. my eyes nearly started to water as i looked away to avoid mr junior gongs gaze. we also got to break into the kickboxing tonight. "let's get this party started" went through my mind, as i triumphantly kicked out one leg and nearly knocked myself over. jet li better watch his back, he's got some stiff competition.

to be completely frank, the cardio tonight wasn't as hard as i remember. i blame this on two possible situations. either a) i've gotten a lot stronger in my cardiovascular training, or b) the skittles i had this week were being stored for a monday night cardio, and kicked in just at the right time. i can confidently say that i surprised myself tonight with this one. atta boy.

so moving on, we're onto release plus. i started again on the bike. i'll still have you know that i haven't found a donut or fuzzy butt pad to help ease the pain. but, like the champions say no pain no gain. so a sore butt i'll have. i thought i may not have enough energy to get all the way through this one the way i expect myself to, but it wasn't too bad. thanks to those reservoir skittles.

my hip flexors are so tight, my deep squats are still creaky, and i have a little pinch in my back. i feel like i need to whoop my own ass, and karate chop myself straight. there's a sign up starting for anyone willing to kick me square in the back. 10$ if you can make me cry. shout outs to the trainers tonight, sniffles, mr junior gong, er bear and big al. cheers for pushing me harder than a mama in labour.