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I would like them to speak to me like my pea-brain imagines a personal trainer would similar to my 1980s (old-school) PE teacher who would watch some of us attempt various sports and shame us with his literal groans, ha.
Why won't my kettlebells yell at me and demand I lift them, repeatedly, until I finally morph into the muscular gymbro I was always meant to be? Er, who am I kidding? I just want to live longer and it's my kettlebells' responsibility, right? I'm sure they're well-versed in the facts about aging and muscle loss and protein and grip strength and longevity and other such jargon that bores me—I'm an English major and the only word I like in this (run-on) sentence is jargon. (Actually I quite like the sound of longevity as well.)
But let's be honest: my not-so-vibrant kettlebells don't give a shit about me. (Insert my old PE teacher's shame groan here.) Do they help me? No. They just sit on their rocker-recliners ,watching TV. (Sometimes I watch with them.) IYAM, at this point they're more like dumb-bells because all my kettlebells do is silently mock me.
I need to get up from this couch, walk across the room, pick up the two 3-lb weights from the wicker basket that holds them overnight, and set them on the arm of a chair which, because they are out of place there, will remind me sometime today to do the arm curls that are my weight-lifting program which takes 6 excruciatingly boring minutes. I understand not doing it! -Kate
ReplyDeleteWe are fellow commiserates, aren't we? Insert fist bump here. I just find weights so boring...would much rather go for a walk or work in the yard.
DeleteI'm smiling at your anthropomorphism.
ReplyDeleteThank you! I'm smiling at your clever comment.
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