But now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Last Thursday I returned from a mini-vacay in Virginia. I had been on a week long hiatus from working out, as I had been visiting my BFF. And visiting my Jay is such a treat. She feeds me actual food (not the morning star chik patties and salad in a bag concoction I am always so proud of. She uses ingredients like sun dried tomatoes and basil. I don't think my kitchen has seen anything fancier than Kashi cereal, and that was a complete accident. The box semi-resembled CHEERIOS, and I didn't realize it until checkout, and was too embarrassed to tell the cashier I had made an error in picking cereal). Also, when I am in Virginia visiting her, I don't do anything. NOTHING. I sleep, scratch, and blend in with her couch. We make a ritualistic trip to Walmart where I pick up some items, always leaving the joint cursing that I didn't bring a bigger piece of luggage. As you can see, though, my activity level goes from being constant and challenging here in the city, to virtually immobile and completely lazy in the great state of passive Virginia.
So the morning after I got back to New York, I knew I had to get right back into being active, or else I would have to shrink wrap a gurdle onto my ever growing torso. I was up early, ready to get back into the swing things. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't exactly throwing a party when I woke up at 4:45am Thursday morning. In fact, I was trying to convince myself (although not much convincing had to happen) that after being off for a week, exercising is bad for my knees (my knees are completely fine, by the way. In my haze of sleep, I had forgotten that in fact, it was my injured hip that had been the culprit of the 7 months of no activity). But, alas, I knew I had to get right back on that horse.
I had already fed the felines and gotten dressed in my workout get-up, when I noticed how completely zany Gracie was being. It was 5am. Usually those little twirps are well into the REM cycle, while they mold themselves into MY spot on the bed after indulging in their breakfast.
They always look so happy and peaceful when I leave for work, which makes me want to throw cold water at them for not having to worry about responsibility.
I should state that I am not a morning person.
Anywho, my little gray short haired fur ball was going ape-shit near the window, like she was playing paddy-cake and/or beating the absolute shit out of her shadow.
"Gracie, deja la vaina!" Translation: Gracie, cut it out (they are bilingual. I just know it!)
However, even after implementing discipline using the artful methods of my own dear mother and her ability to scare the crap out of me with the romantic language of Spanish, the cat still kept putting up her dukes against the window. I was semi-distracted, as I was also trying to pack an outfit for the day that was not sweat pants and an oversized college shirt, as that is ALL anybody wants to wear and can only imagine wearing at 5am in the morning, although not dress-code appropriate. I decided, though to put down the clothing and walk over and see what was crawling up my feline's butt.
Turns out, nothing was crawling up her kitty ass, BUT there was a 3" waterbug happy crawling around on the outer portion of my window. Yep, waterbug. A roach on steroids, hormones, and wonder bread. I would attempt to put a picture up for all you fine folks to see, but the thought of looking at a screen shot of a waterbug makes me shiver and would probably make me run from the laptop and leave this posting unfinished.
Pun totally intended.
While the insect version of satan was OUTSIDE my window, and while said window was sealed closed, and while I knew that Gracie would destroy the sucker in less than 2 seconds, I felt the blood in my face head south into my feet. I froze and just stared for a good 5 seconds. Then, all of a sudden, I had this adrenaline that would probably come in the form of 3 large cappuccinos. I threw some outfit in my gym bag, grabbed my toiletries, and hoped to God that I had packed my underpants, and ran out of that apartment. I proceeded to run out of the building faster than the speed of freakin light because, in my mind, those awful critters were now falling from the skies. How the hell else would one be chilling outside my 2nd story window?!?!?!
I will be completely honest. At around 4:58am, I was considering calling Jason and canceling on him. I was so tired from being lazy all week (really! It's tiring not to do anything) and I had the motivation of a slug. Luckily, at 5am, Willy the Waterbug made his appearance, and with his arrival, he decided for me that, not only would I NOT be canceling, but I would also be going commando that day, and that my cell phone would be participating in the 3-kitty slumber party on my bed (as I left it in my haste).
All before 6am. Sheesh.
And the cell phone. The one morning I could have actually used it, as oppose to just using it as a medium to read Facebook statuses of people hating mornings, their jobs, and the MTA. Instead, it would enjoy a day off. And also take all my messages for me until I would get home at 9pm. One said messages would be from AJ.
I got to the gym at 6:01am to find out that AJ had taken a sick day. I knew it wasn't like him to do so, so I was somewhat concerned. But the manager at 24 hour fitness assured me he was ok. After said assurance, I had a 10 second innocent and "happy place"like fantasy of returning home and getting right back to bed.
And then . . . Willy. I remember Willy. And instantly, said fantasy was crushed and stomped on, kind of what I wished I could have done to the stupid roach.
I sighed heavily, scratched my arm and made my way into the work out area of the gym. I dragged my feet, cursed under my breath, and decided that I was moving to Antarctica, where waterbugs simply can not live . . . right?
And I got on the elliptical, for 40 minutes. And I worked off my fear, my bff's basil and sundried tomato cream cheese, and my morning fuzzies of hating the world. And, according to the dashboard, I also burned off 300 calories.
As I headed to the locker room to shower up and get ready for work, I let out a giggle. That morning, it wasn't about my love handles, my lack of energy, my size 4s, or the 6-pack of abs that I know are somewhere beneath this torso of mine. It wasn't about the slutty top I secretly want to wear one day, or the look on some people's faces who are in awe of my impressive weight loss, or the great satisfaction that I've changed my body. It was certainly not about making my insides just as healthy as my outsides, or living the "mind over matter" way of life, or proving to myself that I am stronger than I think.
That morning, it was about a waterbug.
My hats off to the evil little bastard.