Tag Archives: exercise

Hobbit Dance Studio

I’ve never read The Hobbit, but I’m going to start today because my son pointed out that I AM a Hobbit. He said, “Mom, Hobbits like to sit in their armchairs, and read and eat. They don’t like to go out on adventures because it takes them away from their books.  Plus, they eat second breakfast.” I think he’s on to something. After all, Hobbit almost sounds like Hermit, and I love to just sit, read, and eat.  This is why it defies all logic that I joined a  Diet Bet game  during the holidays, or anytime really.  What the heck was I thinking?

Well, honestly, I thought it would be easy because my husband had UPPP surgery on December 17.  For more about that, read this.  So, I figured that I would just eat a lot of soup right along with Chris.  This didn’t happen, of course. Whenever I think about dieting, I eat more.  Plus, there’s that whole hating exercise thing, and not liking people.  We introverts don’t like the gym because it involves people and chitchat.  Also, my fellow germaphobes and I look at the machines as though we have blacklights for eyes.  We can see the viruses dancing on the handlebars of bikes, weights, and elliptical machines.  Nope.  We Hobbit/Hermits must exercise at home.

I have always liked to dance.  In fact, I wanted to be a Browardette at South Broward High School, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask my parents for the large sum of money needed. From what I heard, Browardettes had to pay for a ton of things like, special bras, at least four outfits, camp travel costs, makeup, etc. So, I did the next best thing; I took two years of dance classes as PE electives.  I miss dance, and not only because I met one of my best friends in class.  I would love to take dance classes now, but I can’t find a jazz dance class for people older than 6.  It seems that older folks are supposed to take ballroom dancing, which doesn’t really interest me.  I want to dance alone, to good music. Since I don’t want to make the little kids or their parents uncomfortable by joining a kid class, I came up with my own solution.

I have heard of people having kitchen dance parties, but my kitchen is too small.  Also, since we have adopted three cats and two dogs, there’s usually anywhere from one to five animals begging for food at any time. Seriously, they act like they are starving to death. I’m surprised they haven’t figured out how to use the phone and call the Humane Society for help. So, unless I want to trip over a Great Dane and die from a granite countertop induced head injury, I can’t dance in the kitchen.  The bathroom, though, has potential.

My dance studio
My dance studio

I live in a five level split home.  Basically, the five levels are divided by half flights of stairs.  So, from the outside, the house looks like your average two-story home.  So, long story short, I have stairs in my bathroom.  There are five steps that go from the large master bathroom to a “bonus room” that I use for my office.  It’s big enough for dancing, and it has stairs for my own version of step aerobics.   A couple of weeks ago, at the beginning of this whole Diet Bet thing, I put my headphones on, turned the volume up to eleven, and jammed out to some eighties tunes while doing the grapevines and spins that I learned way back in dance class at South Broward.  I have been doing this about three times a week ever since.  I may not win on So You Think You Can Dance, but I can burn calories without talking to strangers or touching shared exercise equipment.   I call that a win-win.

If you like to dance, I hope you all get to have at least one dance party today, in whatever room works for you.  Happy New Year!

25 Minutes with Mr. Dark and Handsome

I try to spend 25 minutes every day with Mr. Dark and Handsome. I would do more, but that is about what fits in my schedule. It’s OK. My husband knows about him. I have even asked him to join us since it would be really good exercise, but he thinks that kind of thing is just silly. I disagree. There’s no reason why I should be the only one to benefit from this kind of physical activity.



Wait. Hold on. I’m not talking about a Craig’s List connection here. I’m talking about my imaginary personal trainer, Gilad. He comes into my living room every morning, and brings 4 assistants and a beautiful view of Hawaii. One time, he even had his mom on the show. She looked great, but Mama G didn’t attempt the little unitard and tights ensemble that the other females were wearing. This was an episode from 2004, back when people still wore these things to exercise classes. Oh, wait; that was 1985. At least, the Gilad girls don’t wear leg warmers. The token other guy in the class doesn’t either. Anyway, Mama Gilad had baggy pants and a Gilad t-shirt on. I can respect that, and relate.

As I mentioned, Gilad is nice to look at, for the most part, especially given the fact that he is 17 years older than me. Those of you doing the math at home, that would make him 44. Yes, I’m sure. Because I’m 27, that’s why. What teenaged son? Hush.

Anyway, he is pretty, aside from that unfortunate helmet hair, which he no doubt inherited from his mom. Gilad’s accent can be distracting, though, and I don’t imagine us talking about anything deeper than bun muscles. Just a feeling I have. So, I can’t really add him to the fake boyfriend list, See fake BF blog , but he is definitely the best imaginary personal trainer I have ever had, and the only male one.

Twinkies are also yummy.
Twinkies are also yummy.

Those of you who have seen me lately are thinking, “Wow, either your personal trainer sucks, or you must have a case of Twinkies hidden in your pantry.” It’s OK. I think the same thing whenever I see that woman with bad hair, bags under her eyes and a fat suit in the mirror. I really thought it when I saw that one HORRIBLE picture of me from a recent work function. However, I JUST STARTED working out with Gilad. Give me a couple of months and I will be halfway in shape just in time for swimsuit season to end. Uh huh. I’ve got this all planned out.

So, if you would like to borrow my personal trainer, just set your DVR to record his show on Fit TV, or whatever channel that is. You can just search for him on your cable guide, or the Internet. You could also buy his DVD’s, but who does that with all of this live streaming stuff happening. It’s not like it’s 2004 anymore.


Gen Xaerobics

I’m only allowed to give myself concerts on the elliptical for 20 minutes at a time or my ankle will start to hurt.  It’s been four months since I hurt my tendon and began a series of Lemony Snicket-worthy unfortunate events.  If you haven’t been following my award-winning (I use the term loosely) blog, don’t worry; I have links.

Oh Pity Poor Me

The Six Ways I Almost Died

My Grown Up Tantrums

Awesome Things About Having A DVT

You can read all about my mobility woes, or I can give you the “That’s what you missed on Glee” summary version.  Here it is:

I fell down some stairs backwards, while trying to save my cat from eating electrical cords.  Then, I ignored the pain and exercised and walked on my injured ankle for two weeks because I’m tough like that.  When the pain was too much, I went to an awesome foot and ankle doctor who gave me a removable boot cast to wear.  Because of the injury and immobility, along with the estrogen from birth control pills, Santa brought me a DVT for Christmas.  My husband gave me shots in the stomach, and I’ve been taking Coumadin (AKA rat poison) for almost 3 months. And that is what you missed about me.

So, I should mention that this is the first time in my nice, safe, sedentary life that I have injured myself.  I should also mention that I would like to lose 20 pounds and I would like to be less sedentary. Through all of this, I have learned a thing or two about moving in a way that won’t cause injury to my not quite 27 year-old joints and tendons. I’ve also learned that I am only motivated to exercise when I am listening to 80’s music.   So, as a self-titled subject expert on all things injury, blood clot, and Depeche Mode, I’ve decided to design my own aerobics class as I have hated every group gym class I have ever taken.   Here is my very basic plan for Gen Xaerobics:

1.  There would be no club/dance music.  Electronic beats and nasally females singing about the beats of their hearts do not motivate me to exercise; neither does Latin music.  This is probably because it was shoved down my throat a lot, along with key lime pie, another dislike, during my childhood and young adulthood in South Florida.   This type of music motivates me to stuff foreign objects in my ears to drown out the noise.  So, we would only have 80’s rock music in my Gen Xaerobics class.  Of course, during the “cool down” portion of the class, we would need to move on to some good, slow 80’s British pop.  We would always, always end the class with King of Pain. It just fits, you know?

2. We would limit our moves to NON-impact only.  There would be no jumping, running, or jogging, just some good old-fashioned Elaine from Seinfeld dance action.  The kick would be optional depending on each person’s balance.  Break-dancing, while popular in the 80’s, would be discouraged to avoid dislocated joints, tendon injuries, and bad music.

3. Unlike most gym classes, singing would be encouraged. Prizes would be given to the person who knows all of the words, even if a group of stray dogs gathers at the door of the gym to howl in agony at the singer’s vocal range.  I’m talking about myself here.

4. Everyone would need to wear neon unitards with clashing leg warmers.   High-top white Reeboks would be optional.

Let’s face it.  As Gen Xers, we need exercise that won’t pop our tendons or leave us permanently hunched over. We need to be able to listen to Duran Duran without feeling guilty, or without reminiscing about all the people we didn’t date high school, or some of the one’s we did. I’m talking about you, Ducky.  So, let’s make Gen Xaeorbics a reality.   Who is with me?