Today we are going to compare two workout photos, and see which one you think will make the better rider
Bella working out:
Jane working out:
Note that my workout includes frosting, and Bella’s workout includes superhuman strength.
Now we know why Jane finds the roping saddle so heavy. That I had to have an organizational plan to saddle Hudson, startled Bella. She said. “But that’s my light saddle!” Let’s put it this way. I won’t be roping 500 lbs of steer any time soon.
I am publicly committing to working out and getting back in real riding shape. (I’m also committing to hiding the camera when I’m having a bad hair day, and wearing one of Shaun’s old T-shirts.)
I googled my gym (so I could find it again) and re-introduced myself to the doors. They were quite friendly. So was the staff. The treadmill, however, was miffed: you never call, you never write, and I’m supposed to take you back, just like that? I don’t THINK so, sister. It complained under its breath until I hit the 2 mile mark, whereupon it grudgingly admitted I might be serious….IF I came back tomorrow.
The nautilus machines wouldn’t even glance my way. Fine. Two can play that game.
The weight room? I couldn’t get past the bouncer. I had to live through all the pitying glances of the regulars as they pushed past. Shoot. There’s not even a disco ball in there. It thinks it’s such a high and mighty exclusive little club. The bouncer said: “when the machines will vouch for you, I’ll let you in.”
I slunk home to work out in the living room with my Pilates DVD. It’s fairly non-judgmental. It grumbled a little when I switched over to the “modified” version (shows old women doing Pilates). It’s not big on hand holding.
You’d think the world would cut me a little slack on the day I go back to working out. The gym I understand. I have to win its trust back. The Pilates? Come on, it went from fit young women (Regular workout) to silver-haired old ladies struggling to sit up straight (modified workout). That is supposed to inspire me? I already look like that!
Fine. All done. I limp out to the mailbox and there’s a lovely letter, just for me, from a company that cares about my welfare and wants to protect my loved ones: I should buy my coffin now, along with burial insurance.