When Operation Suck Less in 2014™ was first conceived, I signed up for a wellness program offered by the Y.W.C.A.; I thought it would be a good jumpstart to achieving my goals, give me cheap access to a health club and the insurance reimbursement would be a nice extra bonus.
The 2-month program consists of 3 weekly small group sessions with a trainer covering nutrition and introductory sessions of a variety of exercise classes and activities; the program is set up so you begin at any time and cycle through.
This week’s exercise focused on stationary biking and spinning. I have a recumbent bike sitting in the corner, sad and ignored except for the bras drying on the handlebars. My bike is easy to get on and off, as I recall, and has a nice wide comfy seat for my not-so-nice wide comfy seat. I really like this bike and someday I might get on it again.
For some reason I thought owning an ignored recumbent bike, properly prepared me for health club bikes. I am so, so silly.
We walked into a room filled with rows of silver torture machines, obviously evolved from alien technology, and we were meant to figure out how to adjust them and get our body on one. I kind of figured out the height adjustment but the seat positioning and arm positioning were clearly beyond the scope of my capabilities. The trainer sort of helped me but her clear goal was people on the bikes, now.
Once I was on, I realized the pedals had toe clips that were much too tight for my thick walking shoes. Getting off was not appealing due to the effort I had expended getting on this so called bike, so I tried to bend over from my awkward position to adjust these clips but bonked my head on the handlebars and decided to just fake it.
I attempted to pedal but nothing moved, not in the slightest. I kind of freaked out as I realize pedal movement is key to the act of cycling. The trainer noticed the confused look on my face and finally pointed out the resistance lever set to what I assume was 500 million, so I moved it to 1 and eventually the pedals moved and the panel lit up showing my micro effort.
Once I started to move, I became more uncomfortable. Having a bionic hip means it often feels like I am sitting on a cast iron ball, so I shifted a bit to move this ball and inadvertently gave myself a wedgie; I am certain I have never been so close to clothing in my life and I was uncertain if this closeness could ever be extracted.
I continued the pedaling as best I could and kept trying to find a more comfortable position that was never going to be found. My nether regions, or what ever cute Oprah-esc name you use, will never feel the same again. I admire any woman who has given birth once and chooses to do it a second time because after my one bike session there is no way in hell there will be a second. I may give that comfy recumbent bike a ride, but I will be waiting a few days before I attempt it.
So far the nutrition sessions are utterly pointless. I might not look like I know proper nutrition, but you don’t get an ass like mine without knowing what is good for you so you can avoid it at all costs. I keep hoping there will be some nugget to take away but so far, not so good.
I hate being judged on my looks so it would be totally unfair to judge our training lady based on the fact she is smaller than a 10 year old boy and has probably never had to worry about a piece of chocolate cake going to her hips; instead I will judge her on being a moron and I really don’t do well with morons.
The trainer lady basically reads off her handouts, giggles nervously and, when asked simple questions that even I could answer, she rambles on an on without providing any clarity. Everyone in the session does her best to not glance at each other for fear we might start rolling our eyes or giggling as well.
She shows up each week ill-prepared, never has a room ready, the handouts are not copied and it is obvious she has not even glanced at what she is meant to go over. She awkwardly reads a summary, and then she spends the rest of our allotted time wasting it and rambling. How can we have any confidence in what she is saying when she doesn’t even attempt to show authority?
After a couple weeks of this, I find I do not like her much. I have no desire to punch her, yet, but I spend most of our sessions trying hard to not let my distain permeate the entire room; I hate having my time wasted by others when I am perfectly capable of wasting it in many creative and entertaining ways. While she bugs, I do not stay after our session and complain about her like the other ladies, but it has been tempting.
This week we talked about meal planning, I think, it was hard to follow between the mumbling and the “ums.” I still have no idea what point she was trying to make other than meals should be planned, maybe.
She focused a lot of her rambling on healthy snack option and singled each of us out to share what we choose for healthy snacks. I was first. I had a choice that was probably going to set the tone for the next 19 minutes of hell, play along nicely or bring down the room.
I guess Operation Suck Less in 2014™ could also include being nicer to morons, maybe there is some karma or other benefits to be reaped. So while my inner monologue went on a tangent of snarky comments that I was certain the others would match or how there is no way this ass gets any snack one could deem healthy, I took a deep breath, smiled and said, “Um, an apple.” Not exactly a lie, I eat apples.
She seemed to be pleased, the other ladies followed with their various snack lies, and finally our lame session was over. How I will make it until this nonsense is over, I have no idea, but I am sure I will have lots of practice being tolerant and probably know nothing new about nutrition.
I did eat an apple today however, I did not get on a bike.