Remember my last post about how being bad at something is good for you? Forget everything I said. Being bad sucks more than a Dyson on steroids. Having a little trouble weaving through a pace line, having a goal to work for, is one thing. Failing your assessment again and again blows worse than if Katrina and Sandy became lesbian lovers.
So I did something today for the first time: I lied about my age. I’ve heard that women lie about their age all the time, but I’ve never felt the need. In my profession, experience is valued. The only man I’m trying to get into bed is my husband. Besides having a front row seat to the southward journey my breasts have taken for the past 10 years, he’s seen both my birth certificate and passport. So who did I lie to? The exercise bike at the gym. For my cardio, I do that program that adjusts the intensity of the bike to reach a target heart rate. Unfortunately, when I put my real age in, the bike says “Take it easy. At your age, you’re on the downslope of the hill, you don’t have to pedal as hard”.
One of the skills a derby player must have is the ability to skate 27 laps in 5 minutes. Do you know what it’s like to skate that many laps in that amount of time? Neither do I. At 5 minutes 42 seconds, as I lay gasping for air and begging my muscles to stop screaming it occurred to me: the track doesn’t know how old I am, neither does it care. So I trick the bike at the gym that the ample rump occupying it’s seat belongs to a 35-40 year old. I honestly don’t know if my legs are strong enough to back pedal up the hill enough to pass my next assessment. I just know I’m not ready to start coasting down hill yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment