Useful things for champions-count and squat.

Friday mornings, 7:30am sharp, me and my friends meet our personal trainer. We all share her personalness. Because we can't afford personally personal training. It's more fun this way, though. It might be sort of weird doing all the hard exercises without all of us there. And way less funny.

Meet some of the exercises:

Sideways walking with giant rubber bands strapped around our legs. Do not walk like a gangstah. Or saunter. It is desirable to resemble a penguin with a stick inserted into it's ass.

Arm waving in preying mantis board positions while rolling over to the right and the left and the right and the left.

Squeezing our cores.* Whilst holding a squishy yellow basketball that must be filled with lead pellets or something. And legs doing this and that.
*Personal training for flabby stomachs.

Everything is timed. Our trainer calls me Gumby, and tells me not to bend my knees so much. And to squeeze my blades.*
*Personal training for shoulder blades.

She's a wirey bike racer with a stop watch. She takes fitness seriously. For the exact amount of seconds. We meet in a cute little private gym, beg pardon, I mean body studio, with little crystal chandelier sconces and ropes hanging from the ceiling for triceps building. We do circuits. One minute of one thing, and then just before you think you're about to die, on to the next. Which might be pushups.

Tick tock, tick tock.

I think to make this work really good, I should be practicing more at home, and also not having dinners that consist of pizza and See's candy.*
*Actual last night's dinner.

I do stop at the beach right after, before I get to work, and run with the dogs. This is called interval training*.
*Previously called running until I was too tired and then walking until I was ready to run again.

I suspect for true championness, I will need to do somewhat better. When I'm about to expire of pushup fatigue, I try to mental manage myself to remember that true champs can do more than 12 pushups in a row. But then I might look over at my friend Donna, who may look like a penguin with a stick up her ass, and lose count. And crack up. And just lay there for a while.