Things I never thought I'd do #315

There are many things I never thought I'd do in this life:

• Lining up with the elderly and long-term unemployed to buy Take 5 and that's life! magazines.
• Buying containers to place inside containers in order to 'declutter'. 
• Pushing chunks of vomit through a plug hole.
• Trimming matted hairs from my dog's anus.
• Googling 'brush turkey mounds'. 

And apparently...taking a trip to an army disposal store while trying to appear 'normal'.

I'm not sure if it's just me (and it's a distinct possibility that it is just me), but this week I discovered that I cannot walk into an army disposal store without thinking that they're thinking that I'm a serial killer. 

This was not aided by my forced 'upbeat' demeanour as I entered the store.

Me: "I have a bit of a weird request".

Army Disposal Owner (ADO): "There's no such thing as a weird request in here".

Me: *scanning the locked cabinets full of weapons and catching a glimpse of a random, seated, bearded Old Mate straight out of Deliverance.*

Me: "I'm looking to buy a machete for my partner's birthday". (Followed by a lengthy over explanation about yard work, and living near the bush, and clearing paths and...Jesus - STOP!) 

My brain: *He thinks you look normal on the surface, but that you are actually one of those people who appears normal and then buys a machete and ends up on the news.*

ADO: "I can help you with that. What sort of machete are you looking for?" (Followed by the unlocking of cabinets and a lengthy over explanation about size, price, saw edges (*SAW EDGES!*)

At this point, ADO led me to another locked cabinet and started placing each machete in my hand so I could get a 'feel for them'. Meanwhile Deliverance Old Mate was still sitting on his stool watching.

My brain: *I am holding a machete. I am Jason Voorhees. He thinks I am Jason Voorhees. They probably sell hockey masks. Why are there SWAT team security caps in that cabinet? What else do they sell in here? Why is Deliverance Old Mate watching?*

ADO: "I have my best seller coming in in a couple of days. We've had a bit of a run on machetes lately."

Me: "You've had a run on machetes?"

ADO: "Yeah, it's all the wet weather. Things are overgrown."

My brain: *Of course they are.*

Me: "I'll just take this one - in the case, please...and if it doesn't do the job, I'll come back and get the other one" (*What am I even saying?*)

At this moment, I considered looking around the rest of the shop, but I turned and looked deep into the soul of Deliverance Old Mate and reconsidered. (*What is he even doing here?*)

I managed to get the machete safely to the house and was greeted by Miss C, "Mum, you do know that if there's a machete murder, you'll be a suspect.

I rang my mother.

Mum: "Your finger prints are all over those machetes. I would've wiped them down."

My brain: *Jesus, that's next level.*

George was suitably impressed with his new machete, and no one has been injured thus far. 

I have also added another thing to my list of things I never thought I'd do and that is utter the words, "Please remove your machete from the floor."

 

Some advice for my daughter

·         Despite the occasional crucifixion from peers, there’s nothing wrong with being the ‘good girl’. Good girls might finish last initially, but eventually they win.

·         However, don’t be so good that you never have fun. Revel in life! Push a few boundaries, take some calculated risks and try not to fear failure. You might discover something (or someone) amazing!

·         Intelligence is not something to be ashamed of. Don’t dumb yourself down to gain approval from others, but try to use it wisely and humbly.

·         If you dress like trash, you will attract trash. Embrace your body and adopt your own style, but always leave something to the imagination.

·         Always remember you are beautiful. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise.

·         Be resilient in the face of adversity. I will always walk by your side but I won’t fight your battles.

·         Don’t begrudge anyone their success or money. If you want something, work hard and earn it! You will be eternally dissatisfied if everything is handed to you.

·         Be gracious. Manners are the most important lesson you will learn and they are the attribute people will remember.

·         Appreciate what you have. So many people have so much less. Try to give something back.

·         Try not to form preconceived notions about others. Everyone has a past.

·         Take responsibility for your actions and own your mistakes. It takes greater courage to admit fault and apologise than blame someone else.

·         Food is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Never make it your enemy!

·         Surround yourself with music. It will move you, inspire you, heal you and take you to places you could only dream of.

·         You will meet many people throughout your life, but will end up with about a handful of friends who you will trust enough to share your innermost thoughts, desires and fears.

·         There is no shame in seeking help. Suffering in silence will only hinder you.

·         Never be afraid to love deeply and passionately, but don’t be blind sighted! Ensure the person you love has common core values, treats you with respect and loves you with as much depth and passion.

·         Don’t underestimate the power of laughter. It will regenerate you.

·         One day your eyebrows are going to look like mine and despite the fact my mother told me mine were beautiful like Brooke Shields’ circa 1984 – they weren’t. They needed to be waxed. And so will yours…every few weeks for the rest of your life. Believe me, you won’t regret it!

Let’s get physical…to a point.

I am a relatively fit person. Not Jennifer Beals fit, but not too bad for 34. I run around after children. I run around the office. I generate a hefty dose of adrenalin just, well…existing, which is the main reason I recently joined a gym – to harness some of the adrenalin coursing through me and to release some endorphins. Anyone else would opt for some kind of illicit substance to quell a head full of circling thoughts.

My only experience with public exercising thus far (apart from the time I decided I would ‘go for runs’ on our local bike track, which translated to ‘running to the bike track and walking the rest of the way’) was the ladies’ gym I joined a year after The Ranga was born. This supportive, 80s-music- playing, female-only environment lulled me into a false sense of security. It provided me with the confidence to publically exercise again - this time in a co-ed gym - with people who take exercising VERY seriously.

I eased myself in to my new gym with a couple of low impact classes and a few brisk walks on the treadmill. And despite the fact I lost both of my legs on the treadmill and gained two leaves of recently soaked gelatine in their place, it wasn’t enough to get the endorphins going.

In a momentary lapse of judgment I organised my free assessment with one of the gym’s personal trainers. I honestly believed that ‘assessment’ meant sitting down for an hour to have a ‘nice chat’ with the personal trainer, to the point where I asked him if I would need to bring anything with me.

It was like the time the police chased me at age 18 for speeding. When I finally pulled over and was questioned by the officer as to why I didn’t stop, I responded with, “Because I didn’t think you were after me.” Because I really didn’t think they were after me. And I really didn’t think Personal Trainer was going to make me do anything at all.

If naiveté was a sport I could represent Australia.  

Personal Trainer started by asking me what my goals were, to which I replied (with the words I would live to regret), “I wouldn’t mind a bit of toning in the thigh, butt and tummy areas.”

He then proceeded to drive his finger into the side of my thigh. “Does that hurt?” he enquired as I yelped like a Kelpie. He grabbed my hips and thrust my pelvis out to correct my posture and then started to formulate ‘a personalised program’.

It started with a cross trainer and a pen shoved just above my butt to keep me upright and continued with outrageous bursts of public skipping (I hadn’t skipped since 1988) - in front of a mirror - whilst wearing tights, which were interspersed with stepping machines and more pen poking, followed by public lunging - in front of a mirror – whilst wearing tights, and finally legs apart on the floor crunching some abdominals (did I mention the mirror and tights???)

He seemed pleased with my ability to handle the ‘beginner’s program’. I couldn’t walk for a week.

I have done some pretty undignified things in my time - slipping over on a beer soaked floor whilst dancing at a local cougar haunt springs to mind. As does lying on a bed stark naked trying to push a baby out, whilst a rotating door of medical staff filed in and out of my room to check on the status of my vagina.

However, for some reason I can’t exercise publically without thinking of Richard Simmons or “Jazzercise” or people wearing leg warmers and g-string leotards. All of which trump my previous examples.

 When I decided to ditch the humiliating solo workouts for a circuit class, I expected it to be like “Flashdance” where we would all run really fast on the spot to “Maniac”, but when I arrived for the class I discovered my teacher was Personal Trainer who gave me a conspiratorial “Never Say Die” look and proceeded to play music with the kind of frequency that induces vomiting.

Smug Girl next to me asked if I’d been before and served the pitying “You Haven’t Got a Hope” look. I hit back from the baseline with the “I’ve Had Two Kids, Lady. Don’t Talk to Me about Endurance!” look.  

And then it was on!

Personal Trainer started firing instructions from everywhere. Yelling out things like “RUNNING MAN” which translated to ’jump around using your limbs like a pair of scissors’. Then “DOUBLE GRAPEVINE TO THE LEFT WITH A LUNGE”, which sounded more like a coffee order than an exercise. 

Just when I started to coordinate myself he shouted, “GO TO THE OUTSIDE” and everyone scattered like lemmings and jumped on miscellaneous pieces of equipment around the outside of the floor. Smug Girl, sensing my horror, leant across and started pushing buttons and adjusting weights for me while Personal Trainer yelled “30 SECONDS. MAKE IT WOOOOOORRK!” And then I heard “BOXING ROOM, BOXING ROOM. GO.GO.GO.” and everyone was running everywhere.

I, along with around ten other people, burst in to the shoebox sized boxing room, which looked and smelled like an abattoir. My style, I decided, was more bovine than butterfly, and as I lumbered through the rest of the boxing session I saw Personal Trainer coming at me yelling “UPSTAIRS, UPSTAIRS, UPSTAIRS. GO.GO.GO.”

And everyone was running and switching rooms and I was running up and down and up and down and up and down a staircase with a 65-year-old man - drenched in sweat - coming up the rear shouting, “C’MON GIRL!”

Jesus Christ!!!

Then I heard “BACK TO THE FLOOR, BACK TO THE FLOOR” and I was suddenly playing tug of war with the 65-year-old man and a medicine ball. Who uses medicine balls anymore? I thought they were only used to take out the ankles of your classmates in Year 7 PE classes.  I then found myself doing Jennifer-Beals- style-running on an aerobics step and it was back to the floor for an obstacle course around the medicine balls, and then down on the ground for push ups and bizarre jump in the air and punch the floor manoeuvres, then God forbid…some public skipping!! Personal Trainer shouted, “CARDIO, CARDIO, CARDIO. GO.GO.GO.” And I ran on the spot shouting, “WHERE’S CARDIO? I AM SO CONFUSED!!”

I was directed to a rowing machine by Personal Trainer (next to man who hadn’t left the machine for a week and a half) and was told to “DO IT LIKE TONY. HE’S A MACHINE!”

My rowing with Tony was interrupted by, “BACK TO THE BOXING ROOM, BACK TO THE BOXING ROOM. GO.GO.GO”. Then it was downstairs running and medicine balls and army-esque obstacle courses and Jennifer-Beals-stepping  and Godforsaken skipping and outside machines and “Maniac”-running- on-the-spot moments and more rowing with Tony and people running EVERYWHERE.

And then it ended.

I felt like I had left my body and was hovering above myself.

I had a sudden urge to groan and vomit but unlike my birthing experiences, resisted the urge to do either.

As I hung my head between my legs – in front of the mirror – in tights, I had a moment of reflection.  This never happened to Jennifer Beals. She exercised happily in 1983. What did she do differently? Perhaps if I donned a pair of leg warmers or a g-string leotard and threw a bucket of water over my head it might be more enjoyable next time? If, of course, there is a next time.