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REAL LIFE
ONLY FUNNIER
By Columnist
Kim Johnson
February 08, 2010
 Kim Johnson , Sky Valley Chronicle columnist. CLICK TO ENLARGE
By Kim Johnson
I think everyone has his or her own version of Hell. For some it might be eternally pushing a rock up a hill. For others it could be a world without supermodels. To each, their own, right? My vision of eternal damnation is crystal clear.
There standing by the fiery gates of the Underworld is a woman in exercise clothes, weights in hand, yelling and screaming and saying things like ‘We don’t quit at the finish line’. Scary, isn’t it? Did you get a shiver down your spine? Cause I did.
Lunges, squats, and the dreaded cardio are pretty high up there on my list of things I strongly dislike. Right up there with Pepsi-free days, rejections letters, and dieting. The whole exercise system is enough to make a girl scream and/or cry, and in my case, it’s usually the latter.
First of all, what is going on with workout clothes? I don’t know about you, but my body in spandex, lycra, and stretch cotton…not a thing of beauty. In fact, I’ve yet to meet the human who looks even remotely lovely in any of the above.
Of course, I don’t get out much, he or she could be out there just waiting to prove me wrong. But a fabric that suction cups to my curves and bumps is not my idea of heaven on earth.
My second issue with exercising, oh yes I have many issues with it, are the women in exercise dvds. These are the kind of girls who spend five hours a day at the gym, girls who actually smile while they burn calories. There is just something not right with these chicks.
I’m thinking they are some sort of robot human hybrid… sorta like Stepford Wives in spandex. Think about it and I’m sure you’ll agree it’s the only logical explanation.
Painted on clothes and Fembots with killer abs are really the least of my concerns though, the part of exercise that really cranks up my hate-o-meter is the actual exercising.
My workout sessions involve much panting, grunting, holding my sides in hopes of easing the self-induced pain. This would be the main reason I workout in the privacy of my own home—though my children are known to watch and burst into giggles at regular intervals—instead of pumping my iron at the gym where although I am certain no one would come right out and giggle to my face I would become the story they told over lunch that began, “You shoulda seen this woman at my gym…”
My personal purgatory is definitely one filled with a treadmill, weight machines, and a quarter-mile track. Where the devil may or may not closely resemble Jillian Michaels.
A kind of Hell where I will spend eternity running round and round a track in neon pink lycra shorts and a matching top. Neon. Pink. Lycra. If that’s not spine chilling, I don’t know what is.
Email Kim at info@skyvalleychronicle.com with questions or comments.
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