For a while, El Senor and I have been meaning to go to a spin class together at the gym. Today we finally had the chance to go. Now, I haven't been working out the past couple weeks. I've been spending my time focusing on other areas of my life, like homework and... you know... homework. We got to the 45-minute class two minutes late, but were able to find two bikes together, right beside the instructor. For everyone who's never been to a spin class, let me describe the environment. The room is small and triangular with black walls. The only lighting comes from a traffic light at the front of the class. Music is pumping as hard as it would in a club. In fact, I imagine the whole thing is a club atmosphere (I've never been to a club) only with stationary bikes. Now let me detail the next 43 minutes.
43: Got on bike, adjusted bike with El Senor's help. Started pedaling.
42: Was instructed to exert myself at about a level 7 exertion. Exerted myself at what I thought was a level 7 exertion.
41: Was instructed to sprint. Started sprinting.
40-38: Was instructed to sit back and pedal at a level 8. Pedaled at a level 8. Started to feel funny.
37: Started to feel burning in my lungs and chest. Felt more funny. Leaned far over bike handlebars.
36: Started to feel seriously ill. Stopped pedaling so fast, seriously reduced the resistance on my bike.
35-30: Thought about the public embarrassment to physical discomfort ratio. I was feeling sick enough that I didn't care that everyone in the room could see I wasn't following the workout anymore. But I wasn't sick enough to walk out of the room. Put my head down on my arms on the handlebars.
29: Said yes when the instructor asked me if I was okay.
28: Wondered if when I passed out, my head would hit El Senor's bike or the girl next to me's bike before it hit the ground.
27-26: Wondered if I'd have an epileptic seizure once I hit the ground.
25: Tasted strange taste in my mouth. Wondered if it was a taste of death.
24-23: Listened to El Senor say, "Don't over-exert yourself." Laughed because I didn't know whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. Listened to El Senor say, "No, I'm serious." Reflected on the fact that for the last howevermany minutes, I'd been pedaling extremely slowly at zero resistance.
22: Wondered if after my skull fracture and seizure, I would survive long enough to make it to the hospital.
21: Wondered if Viper would come and visit me in the hospital in the moments before my death.
20: Thought about how my entire set of lungs and esophagus were still on fire.
19: Thought that maybe I was starting to feel slightly better, despite the burning organs mentioned above.
18: Thought about the public embarrassment to physical discomfort ratio. I was feeling better, and was more aware of the fact that anyone in the class could see that I wasn't working out at all. Started pedaling faster.
17-13: Smelled burned matches. The instructor said that whatever the smell was, it smelled like food. But it didn't smell like food. It smelled like burned matches. Wondered if the rest of the gym were on fire, would we notice in our room with the music turned up so loud. Wondered about emergency evacuation. Wondered if there were a fire blocking the door, would I run through the fire to escape, or would I stay in the tiny triangular room and die?
12: Stopped pedaling faster. Wasn't feeling as sick anymore, but still wasn't feeling up to any degree of exertion.
11-9: Thought about my homework.
8: Heard instructor announce that there were only eight more minutes. Rejoiced.
7: Realized that the fire in my lungs was out now. Still didn't really pedal faster. Wondered if I'd ever give spin a chance again.
6-2: Thought about the Oscars last night and how I disagreed with everyone's criticism of Jon Stewart's performance. I thought he was fantastic.
1: Realized I'd have something to blog about.
It won't happen to me.
NOTE: This post is somber and realistic. To avoid the realities of life, visit here.
Yesterday I found out that an acquaintance was snowboarding this weekend and had a bad accident. He will probably be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life.
I guess I was surprised at how I reacted to this news. The fact is, I haven't talked to the guy for about five years. The times I have talked to him were only ever brief interactions---he was always just a friend of a friend. I even saw him in a ward in SLC over the Christmas break, but really, we weren't even close enough for me to run up and say hello to him. If he'd seen me, we probably would have chatted, but otherwise, there was no reason to seek him out and initiate conversation. We were never that close.
But when a friend IMed me this weekend saying, "Did you hear what happened to ____ this Saturday?" it took less than a second to think both that he just got engaged and that he just died. Instead, I was told that he had an accident and would be paralyzed. It started me thinking a little about mortality and about how strange it is that this guy I knew would now likely spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I've been thinking about it all weekend.
Of course I have an "it won't happen to me" attitude. I think that most people do. And we also have an "it won't happen to anyone I know" attitude. If you told me that some guy you knew was in a bad accident yesterday, I'd say sorry and likely not think about it any longer than you wanted to talk about it. But hearing that it happened to an acquaintance---and a fairly distant acquaintance at best---has been disturbing and has made me think a little about the fragility of life and about this attitude that I have: It won't happen to me.
Of course, it's better than the alternative. I suggest that having an "it won't happen to me" attitude with regards to freak accidents is much better than having an "it will happen to me" attitude. It's probably a lot healthier not to dwell on the fact that at any moment, you could be wiped out of existence or permanently maimed. I guess it's just where we make conscious decisions for safety that makes the difference. I wear my seatbelt because I could get into an accident. I lock my door because someone could come into my house and steal my laptop and inherit my expired battery problem. I go to the gym because I could actually lose the weight I want to lose. (It could happen to me! It could happen to me!) Moving in that direction, I did enter into a drawing for an elliptical machine (valued at $3500) because it could happen to me!
But I don't wear a bike helmet, even though a friend of mine was killed in a bike accident when he was fourteen. Strange to think about the decisions we make.
Yesterday I found out that an acquaintance was snowboarding this weekend and had a bad accident. He will probably be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life.
I guess I was surprised at how I reacted to this news. The fact is, I haven't talked to the guy for about five years. The times I have talked to him were only ever brief interactions---he was always just a friend of a friend. I even saw him in a ward in SLC over the Christmas break, but really, we weren't even close enough for me to run up and say hello to him. If he'd seen me, we probably would have chatted, but otherwise, there was no reason to seek him out and initiate conversation. We were never that close.
But when a friend IMed me this weekend saying, "Did you hear what happened to ____ this Saturday?" it took less than a second to think both that he just got engaged and that he just died. Instead, I was told that he had an accident and would be paralyzed. It started me thinking a little about mortality and about how strange it is that this guy I knew would now likely spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I've been thinking about it all weekend.
Of course I have an "it won't happen to me" attitude. I think that most people do. And we also have an "it won't happen to anyone I know" attitude. If you told me that some guy you knew was in a bad accident yesterday, I'd say sorry and likely not think about it any longer than you wanted to talk about it. But hearing that it happened to an acquaintance---and a fairly distant acquaintance at best---has been disturbing and has made me think a little about the fragility of life and about this attitude that I have: It won't happen to me.
Of course, it's better than the alternative. I suggest that having an "it won't happen to me" attitude with regards to freak accidents is much better than having an "it will happen to me" attitude. It's probably a lot healthier not to dwell on the fact that at any moment, you could be wiped out of existence or permanently maimed. I guess it's just where we make conscious decisions for safety that makes the difference. I wear my seatbelt because I could get into an accident. I lock my door because someone could come into my house and steal my laptop and inherit my expired battery problem. I go to the gym because I could actually lose the weight I want to lose. (It could happen to me! It could happen to me!) Moving in that direction, I did enter into a drawing for an elliptical machine (valued at $3500) because it could happen to me!
But I don't wear a bike helmet, even though a friend of mine was killed in a bike accident when he was fourteen. Strange to think about the decisions we make.
Oh Baby Oh Baby Oh Baby
I've told myself for years that I'm terrified of children. I've told others, too. I've often prayed to be sterile, especially after reading Savvymom's or FoxyJ's blogs sometimes. Recently, as co-chair of my ward service board, I was responsible for organizing a huge babysitting event where parents with one or more developmentally challenged children could drop off all their children at an elementary school and enjoy an evening out. I talked to the girl in my ward who was part of this babysitting organization and explained to her that children terrified me. She told me that she'd stick me with the oldest group.
I was surprised how much I enjoyed myself. The children really weren't as scary as I thought they would be, and as long as I pushed them on this ride, they were all my best friends.
Later, I went to Maryland and had the opportunity to babysit the fraternal triplets of my mom's visiting teachee. Again, I was surprised at how enjoyable it was. Granted, they were all perfectly behaved, so I'm sure that helps. Also, my mom was there and she did all the diaper changing and tending to physical needs. I just got to do the entertaining. I sang all the verses to this really long French folk song and they all just stopped what they were doing and stared at me for the whole song.
I guess that's about all I have to say about it. I think my attitude towards children is changing slowly the more I'm exposed to them. Now, I don't think I'd be ready for a calling to the Nursery (like Nemesis) quite yet, but at least for the moment, I'm not praying for sterility.
Foxy
Today I had the pleasure of running into someone who I haven't seen for a long time. We'll call him Fox, since that was his last name.
I met Fox during my sophomore year. I was working at Independent Study even back then, and our workplace was dominated by females. We didn't have a single male worker. And by a "single male worker," I mean both "not a one" and "not a single one." One day, a tall, muscular, strapping young man was interviewing in my boss's office. I announced to the girls in the cubicle (most of whom were married) that this was my chance. Independent Study may have just hired my future husband. All I could see was the top of his head over the cubicle wall, but I just knew that he was The One.
As he headed towards our cubicle, and we heard the boss starting to give him the tour, one of my married coworkers hissed at me, "Cicada! Ring!" I had the habit of indiscriminately wearing rings on any finger back then and I happened to have a ring on my left ring finger. As our new coworker stepped into the cubicle, I quickly switched the ring from the left hand to the right, looked up, and smiled at the newcomer.
He introduced himself as ---- Fox and gave us some getting-to-know-you details about himself.
I met Fox during my sophomore year. I was working at Independent Study even back then, and our workplace was dominated by females. We didn't have a single male worker. And by a "single male worker," I mean both "not a one" and "not a single one." One day, a tall, muscular, strapping young man was interviewing in my boss's office. I announced to the girls in the cubicle (most of whom were married) that this was my chance. Independent Study may have just hired my future husband. All I could see was the top of his head over the cubicle wall, but I just knew that he was The One.
As he headed towards our cubicle, and we heard the boss starting to give him the tour, one of my married coworkers hissed at me, "Cicada! Ring!" I had the habit of indiscriminately wearing rings on any finger back then and I happened to have a ring on my left ring finger. As our new coworker stepped into the cubicle, I quickly switched the ring from the left hand to the right, looked up, and smiled at the newcomer.
He introduced himself as ---- Fox and gave us some getting-to-know-you details about himself.
- He was a freshman.
- He was in the ROTC.
Those facts, combined with his puppyish over-exuberance were enough to make me switch my ring back from the right hand to the left hand. There would be no future for me and Fox.
But Fox fit in quite nicely with the women of the office. He was excessively chatty and loved to join in our girl talk. That, and he gave great back massages. Now normally, I'm fairly closed to people physically (unless, of course, I'm not, if you know what I mean). But for Fox, I made an exception because his backrubs were exceptional. Blame it on the ROTC and his massive muscles. At 5:30, once all the superiors had cleared out of the office, we'd have a backrub break. Those days were glorious.
Because he was a freshman boy and because we were all women and because he loved to be involved in our love lives, one of us once decided to set him up with her freshman roommate. They went on a double-date. On Monday, our horrified coworker returned to the office to report to us all that she and Fox and their dates had gone to the HFAC for some musical performance, and in order to impress his date, Fox ate his program. As soon as Fox came back to the office, we lectured him on what does and what doesn't impress women. Thoroughly indoctrinated, and without having us tell him to do so, he called his date to apologize for eating his program. She said that he didn't need to apologize---it was impressive! Sheesh. Freshman girls.
Perhaps my favorite Fox story was the day when we were talking about the French R. At this point, we had another male coworker---Ben, a married man with a booming voice. I was trying to teach Fox to pronounce the French R correctly and said, "It's actually your uvula that's doing all the work."
Fox's eyes went wide and he asked, "I know what the uvula is, but why does it always sound so dirty?"
Ben, the married man with the booming voice said loud enough for everyone in the cubicle maze to hear, "It's because it's a cross between uterus and vulva."
Fox is now all grown up and he's even married. Yet I was still able to witness his puppyish exuberance. He even hugged me twice as I shed a tear for times gone by.
Battery Expired
Yesterday in the middle of a not-so-pleasant day, I noticed that the status lights on my laptop were blinking orange instead of green. I love orange, but blinking on my computer, it was not a happy color. It was indicating to me that my laptop batteries were completely dead, never to be recharged again. So on top of everything that was sucking, I found out that I'd need to pay $150 if I ever want to use my laptop without plugging it in.
Similarly, my body's batteries have run out. I haven't been getting the sleep I need lately. I have thought that I've been able to function properly anyway, but playing an online game with Daltongirl tonight proved otherwise. It was some word game and I kept on laying words on the board that were not actually words. I think that Daltongirl had to challenge me about seven times. I'd give you some examples, but without battery power, my short-term memory is shot. I do definitely remember BEAF. Because I really thought for a moment that BEEF was spelled BEAF.
I think I haven't been blogging lately for the same reason. No brain power.
Taking this into consideration, I think I'm going to go to bed about three hours early tonight. And try to recharge my batteries properly so as to avoid permanent damage. Good night.
Love,
Beaf
Similarly, my body's batteries have run out. I haven't been getting the sleep I need lately. I have thought that I've been able to function properly anyway, but playing an online game with Daltongirl tonight proved otherwise. It was some word game and I kept on laying words on the board that were not actually words. I think that Daltongirl had to challenge me about seven times. I'd give you some examples, but without battery power, my short-term memory is shot. I do definitely remember BEAF. Because I really thought for a moment that BEEF was spelled BEAF.
I think I haven't been blogging lately for the same reason. No brain power.
Taking this into consideration, I think I'm going to go to bed about three hours early tonight. And try to recharge my batteries properly so as to avoid permanent damage. Good night.
Love,
Beaf
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