If you have read my blog for a while, you know I go to the gym semi-regularly. Semi as in, I go if I don’t have any reasonable excuse to not go. Reasonable as in, I need to realphabetize my coupons so I can’t possibly go to the gym. Still, I think I am in pretty decent shape. When I do go I take pretty challenging classes and hold me own. So on Friday when my husband wanted to go take a weight lifting class, I said sure, no problem.
Except there is a problem. I typically take kickboxing, cardio blast, cores and glutes or pilates. These are actually all rather challenging classes that involve some aspect of toning. Apparently, there is one muscle group however, that never gets addressed in those classes. My calves. We did a whole songs worth of calf raises off the step on Friday.
Saturday, I remember thinking, wow, my calves are a touch sore. Must have been those calf raises. Then I woke up on Sunday. The waking up wasn’t bad, it was the stepping down out of bed. Or more accurately attempting to step down only to fall in a heap from the searing pain shooting through my calves. Pain that laughed at the Ibuprofen, long hot bath and relaxation I tried to treat it to. Seriously I have pain when I am just sitting still. I don’t even want to talk about the pain as I limp around the house.
Of course this makes me angry at the hubby. I am not sure if I have ever mentioned this before but my hubby has freakishly large calves. In all seriousness a woman once drove by him, threw the car in reverse, backed up and rolled down her window to comment on the size of his calves. I began praying for my girls before they were conceived that they would come to know Jesus, meet and marry and godly man and please, please not inherit their father’s calves. Not that they aren’t just lovely on him, but I am not sure they would look so great on a pre-pubescent teenager.
So after the killer calf workout I said to my hubby, “Aren’t your calves on fire.” He shrugged and said, “Not really.” The good news is he has been forced to do my bidding all day because I blame him for my state and I can’t walk well. In fact, I resorted to crawling up the stairs at one point. I think at one point when he asked me to go check on a crying kid I said, “You. I can’t walk and it’s your fault.” Clearly we are highly qualified to be teaching Christian marriage prep.
I should note however that no amount of pain could keep me from my weekly Walgreens run to buy the essentials: hand lotion, Nair bikini wax, aluminum foil and allergy medicine. Essentials, clearly. When I paid $9 and got $15 back I almost jumped up and down. Almost. Actually I made the hubby jump up and down for me. It’s his fault I can’t jump after all.