So, stuff is changing around here. The biggest change (from your point of view) is that this journal thing is going to be at bitterdiatribe very soon. All I have to do is decide on a layout, port over a billion entries or so, and figure out how to install a redirector here. I’m sorry for moving twice in three months, but re-entering the Internet is proving to be more difficult than anticipated. Also, I’m lazy.
The other change is my new(ish) exercise regimen, which is KICKING MY ASS. It turns out that jumping rope is… well, it’s not for the faint of limb. I thought I’d sail right into it, because come on — small children can jump rope for hours, including fancy double-rope techniques and crazy choreographed criss-crossing of the rope mid-jump. Also, I’ve been feeling pretty smug about mainting my running-and-Pilates routine, which led me to believe that I am in shape.
Jumping rope is hard, y’all. It’s so hard that I have to break up my pathetic ten minutes a day into ten one-minute units. It turns out that after 65 very slow, very plain, very awkward jumps, I am completely tapped out. And it turns out that after a couple of days of this pathetic attempt at cardio, I am required to lurch about like a zombie because my ankles, knees, and hips are so stiff and sore that I’m considering titanium replacements. For some reason, my right elbow is also excruciatingly painful; it’s like tennis elbow, except it comes from the minimal exertion of swinging a lightweight rope around. I am just too cool for words.
My next step is to buy a hula-hoop. I have decided that if I have to do this much exercise, it’s going to be fun and it’s going to be easy to do in my kitchen. A side effect of these requirements appears to be that anything fun and kitchen-ready also makes me look like a graceless idiot while doing it, but my heart is going to thanks me. Yes, it is. In fact, I think I’d like to get that in writing — “Dear Sara, Keep it up! I’ll thank you in six months or so! Love, Your Heart.”
I’m skipping my scheduled running time today, by the way, because ow. I don’t plan to skip it regularly — that would sort of defeat the purpose of “adding” the rope jumping — but I am in some serious pain this morning. I’ve considered calling my nieces in for a consult; it seems like I just must be doing this wrong. Jumping rope should not cause this much whimpering. Until I figure all this (websites, jump ropes, and hula hoops, oh my), this is Gimpy McGee… signing off.
(Oh, you wanted some amusement? Fine. Go read about Stuff White People Like. Whiners.)
ETA: Here, have a funny story used as a thinly veiled device for narcissistic posting of an IM conversation!
so you know how when kids jump rope they do this… double-jump thing? one jump to clear the rope, one jump to kill time until the rope comes back down?
oh. well, they do.
i haven’t put a lot of thought into jump rope since i was 10 or so.
and let me assure you that falling directly onto the hard floor, nose-first, in no way impairs one’s inherent grace or stunning good looks
This is not going well.