Saturday, February 14, 2009

Love Hurts

love scars, love wounds and mars
Any heart not tough nor strong enough





Those Everly Brothers' lyrics are oh so fitting on this the day of Saint Valentine. But first, let me just say that I really don't care all that much that today is February 14--the day of love. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the Scrooge of the red holiday. I don't mutter strings of profanities about the evilness of commercialism when I see displays of cupid and conversation hearts in the stores. I just think of this holiday more as a kids' day or even a teenagers'--but not something that really applies to me in a way that would require that Andy prove his love in the form of flowers, candies and jewelry. I certainly don't begrudge anyone who does love this day and in doing so expects trinkets and treasures, but that's just not me. Maybe I feel this way because I am blessed enough to have a husband who spoils me rotten all year long. Or maybe it's because I don't think waiting 3 hours to be seated for dinner in a restaurant full of other hungry couples sounds like a good way to spend my evening. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that this day does not necessitate that I receive any gifts, have any special plans, or even acknowledge it at all beyond what we do for the kids.

Jeanne is a different story. She's the type who gets upset when her husband's attempts at securing reservations hit a brick wall. No present for her on this day would be sure to be met with much pouting. As long as her husband agrees to observing the day in such a manner, I have no problem with her drawing big red hearts around February 14 on the calendar and dropping daily hints for desired gifts. However, when her enthusiasm for the holiday starts to affect my own joy, happiness and personal comfort level, then I have a problem. A big, big problem.

You see, she of the red hair who has been training me for years begged and pleaded with me to come to her Body Pump class this morning. For those of you who aren't familiar with Body Pump--it's an hour class that is put together by a company called Les Mills. In those sixty minutes, you do various weightlifting exercises to the beat of catchy songs. It covers all of the major muscle groups and is high repetition, so after the hour you're pretty much done for the day. Anyway, Jeanne had been working really hard on putting together a special Valentine's Day play list of all love songs. Since it was a three day weekend, she was afraid that everyone would have headed out of town--meaning that no one would be in class bright and early Saturday morning to enjoy her handiwork. She wanted me to boost her numbers to help make her efforts more worthwhile. Being the kind and devoted trainee that I am, it only took a few minutes of whining and complaining before I half-heartedly agreed.

What she failed to mention was that all of these "love" songs were actually a compilation of the most brutal, agonizing exercise sequences that Les Mills has ever dreamed up. Every track was a killer--although I especially remember the squat track that had us doing a combination of single bottom haves, full squats and then four on the bottom--repeating at least a gazillion times. My quads were screaming in pain demanding that I put an end to the nonsense. Just as I thought relief was coming in the form of the abs track--she starts doing planks with knee to elbows. The whole class was groaning, and at one point everyone just stopped the exercise and looked at her like she was completely outside her mind. She continued right on through for another 50 knee ins completely unaware of the mutiny about to form . Today, Love Hurt. Actually there was no love, there was only pain. Pain and agony.

And her concerns about no one showing up? Please. The place was past capacity. I was a couple of minutes late, so by the time I got to the weight rack, all of the big plates were gone. I was bummed at the time, but by the end of the hour, I was quite happy with my medium and small plates thankyouverymuch.

Before you think I'm some crazy person that takes pictures of gym classes, John actually took these pictures. They wanted some photos for the gym's Facebook page, but couldn't find their camera. Ever prepared as I am, I quickly scooted over and gave them mine. I just thought I'd share some visuals for the story. Let's play a game of "Where's Mellon" except there's no striped shirt.




Of course there is a different kind of love that doesn't hurt at all. It's ooey and gooey and makes you just want to cover someone with kisses. Know anyone who'd let me do such a thing??



Yes, I believe she'll do. Happy Vday ya'll! video

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