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.

chapter twenty one: captain shaky pants

speaking of bacardi, this afternoon was a little on the wobbly side. a lot on the wobbly side to be precise. i strapped on the full length tights and mentally prepared myself for quiet time, aka release. remember, this is the true challenge for me.

we did our first assisted stretches with help from the kinesis. bigger, deeper, longer. it's nice. miss nix brought out a pair of ankle straps which i pointed out may be a little more appropriate for a late friday night, or even attached to my bedposts. just a thought. but proceed we did, and did they ever give a damn good stretch. another funny little movement we got to practice today was the scapula rotation. now, if you haven't noticed, miss nix has an absolutely exquisite set of scapulas. enough to drive any man mad. she must practice a lot. i think my scaps need some work. it was during the first rotation through the movement that i heard a huge pop out of my left shoulder. hmm. first we introduce dominatrix style equipment on a casual sunday afternoon, now i'm feeling the need for someone to play doctor? oh lord, please help me.

through the second phase we did some sumo squats, which i thought were going pretty well, until fun bobby decided to point out my 'perfect form' which forced me to lose balance and fall flat on my badunkadunk. talk about pressure. we went into mountain climbers to stretch out the hip flexers, and it felt so good. you know, i really don't set out enough time in my day to really get at the ol' hip flexers. those baddies were tight, and i was sweating something fierce while doing this stretch sequence.

our third phase was a bit on balance. bringing out our inner ballerinas. bobbers was the best at this one, hands down. his tutu was packing some major heat. controlled tippy toes, slow releases, tippy toes with our eyes closed (which i'm going to practice at the bar.) spins on one foot and another (what'd you do in class today? we twirled), and rolling like a ball. something was up with my balance today i tell you. i ate it, probably a good three times before the end of class. today consisted of me pretending to be zen, falling over, laughing my ass off, then pretending to be zen again. (note the picture of me laughing my ass off while sitting on my ass)

sundays are probably more productive, and definitely more balanced when you lay off the mimosas. forgive me lord, for i have sinned.

and fyi... the number is five o two

chapter twenty: botox and bacardi

"i woke up in the morning feeling like p diddy. grab my glasses, i'm out the door, i'm gonna hit this city. before i leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of jack. cuz when i leave for the gym i aint coming back." just your average saturday morning.

day three straight of EJ:x. for those who don't talk dirty, that's xxx. it's a surefire sign that you wear short shorts a lot to the gym, when the first thing you hear is not: "good morning beautiful" or "great to see ya" or "welcome to the jungle!" it's: "what are you doing wearing pants?" hmm, note to self. less is more.

apart from my legs not being the real topic of todays discussion, we started off fabulously as per usual. kicked things off with sniffles and the group. phase one, kinesis. nothing better than heavy plates and loud music to get you off first thing on a saturday morning. oh la la. just as soon as we started we were finished. 7 minutes just flies by when you're having fun. so i saddled up on my boyfriend une bicyclette and geared up for 7 minutes in heaven. no this didn't involve a closet. not today anyway.

big al was large and in charge of us for phase two, cardio. i noticed something when i was givin' er today. i always look at the same thing when i'm biking: the house numbers on the condo across the road from the junkyard. i know there's a zero involved. and i'm pretty sure a two. tomorrows mission, if you choose to accept, is to find and photograph the street number. i always pretend like i'm getting closer, and that the numbers are, in fact, increasing. but alas, no distance. just a pain in the ass. i also figured out that i have a pretty serious bike face, which sometimes can look like a scowl. there's botox for that, so not to worry.

increased group traffic today made me have to last longer on the bike. that, and i was a lot sweatier than normal. wow, innuendoes much? i tell ya, pretty soon the only kind of relationship the bike and i are going to have is a dysfunctional one. and i'll be driven to drink and too stubborn to leave. it's not that easy. my cd's are in the trunk.

chapter nineteen: tight and bright

"you just popped in the EJ: get right for the summer workout tape. and ladies, if you follow these instructions correctly we're going to make your body look great. one and two and three and four and get those situps right, do your crunches just like this, and tuck your tummy tight."

it was the mid eighties when i got my first dose of neon. it was a onezie with room for a diaper, and i was over the moon. this was the first piece of the puzzle that i'd use later in life to suggest a tight and bright 80's night at the junkyard. after sitting down in my closet and demanding to know the exact electric status of my wardrobe, it had become clear to me that in order to fulfill the buns of steel that i so badly desired. i would have no choice but to participate in a friday night theme workout.

big al and sniffles scampered off into the boys change room to get suited up. and then the doors opened... we all stared in astonishment. i was sitting on a bosu, gazing at them for a good couple of minutes before even blinking. milli vanilli actually came to teach our class. the energy level skyrocketed, and my ability to take them seriously headed in precisely the opposite direction. and then there was fun bobby. his assets would be best described as on par with someone in an 80's hairband. the way his denim cutoffs remained in-tact during his squat demos left me in awe. i could hear the seams screaming. i speak confidently when saying all three men tonight look better in tights and cutoffs than jane fonda.

here is the news: i've developed a serious crush on the bike over the last week, but i'm still not sure if i'm ready to admit that i am really enjoying grinding it out. i was doing sprints in the second set, 20 rpm's higher than milli told me. he and i were both completely flabbergasted. then he upped my tension. oh ya, now we're sweatin'.

plank series to finish, but i would have preferred hip thrusters. while holding my plank position for close to what felt like an hour, i had started thinking about how neon tights could help me make ends meet. i'm not really sure what kind of ceo wears neon tight pants, or what type of work they refer to, but since i generate roughly the same income as a giraffe, i figured why not test it out? maybe i'll be in a rap music video... even though i can work legally, these were the two most realistic (and badass) options: i could either start my own underground buns of steel circut, or become a prostitute. like i said, realistic when tights are included.