From Best in Post ~
I’m playing a game. A game of tag with a bunch of Spark people over at Spark People Dot Com. It’s a challenge. Two teams running relays, pitting their brawn, their brains, their nutrition skills against each other. Let’s just pause here. I’m not sure I have any of those things B.E. — before elevenses.
Back to pitting. It works like this. Two teams. A list of tasks — shorter than the teams — and a time frame. The first challenger does the first task on the list and Scores! Then, it’s the whole Tag, you’re it! to the next person, and they do the next task. It can be a nutrition task — eat a piece of fruit, drink 8 oz. of water. It can be a support task — give a hug, virtual or real. Yeah. Wait for it. It can be an exercise — precisely, the exercise of the day. Who do you think got that?
There are skips and forfeited points and…
The challenge started Monday. Goes through Sunday. I should last so long. I checked down the line to see what I would have in the first round. Oh, boy. Exercise of the day. Goodie. Can’t wait. For Monday, that was Dumbbell Flys. Excuse me?
I’m thinking, What if I get tagged while I’m eating dinner? I’m not dropping and doing dumbbell flys on a stomach full of Cora’s Lemon Garlic Chicken which, by the way, is fabulous. So, I dropped and did two sets of flys pre-Cora and waited to be tagged.
Yes. You’re getting the picture. My fellow challengers are scattered all over the galaxy and have X amount of time to complete their task before they tag the next challenger.
Moral of the blog: never anticipate.
We were all playing in the land of dreams before the person before me was tagged.
My enthusiastic, early-rising teammate is up before the birds. Before the cock that crows. Before Kronos. He has to give a hug, virtual or otherwise. At 5:28 a.m. I can give a hug. Maybe not virtual, but of the otherwise persuasion. Def. That’s a total lie. I can receive a hug at 5:28 a.m. That is all. Right Mr. G, honey? Mr. G isn’t even here, and I know his shoulders are shaking.
Let it be known in all the lands that Elen is not a morning person.
Not. A. Morning. Person.
It’s 7:30 a.m. I’m on the intertoobs. I’m checking. I’ve been tagged.
And there is a NEW exercise of the day.
So. Oh, joy. I did premature dumbbell flys for my chest which, the girls and I agree, we so don’t need.
Now, I’m scrolling the page looking for the new exercise of the day.
Squats with front shoulder raises.
Muscles worked: quads, glutes, hamstrings, shoulders.
Oh, God II.
I don’t have any of those.
Nor, do I have the medicine ball I’m supposed to use to do these squats.
I improvise. Improvise is my middle name.
I run to the kitchen and snatch some cheese for a protein shot. Like it’s going to have time to work in the next 5 mins.
I run to the pantry and grab a canister of sugar (it’s worth a good 5 lbs.). Medicine ball substitute.
I run back upstairs to my office, which is big enough for squats.
All that running was my warm-up, but just to be sure, I stick in the iPod earbuds and crank-up The Warrior Song. Thank you, Sean Householder. Honey, this is not your mama’s warm-up tune. It’s pre-caffeine a.m. What else would I use?
And I squat. 2 sets. 15 reps each.
My only thought — Pop-Tart or oatmeal?
Pop-Tart is not the Spark way. Dang.
But that Pop-Tart visual got me a little excited and, after the last squat was finished and I was feeling truly smug and sparkly, I tripped, the canister of sugar popped open, and I was looking at an ugly brown carpet full of sugar. Pre-caffeine.
Now, there is a life-sized Golden Pup pelting into my office focused on a big ol’ sugar rush.
The hand goes out.
I ignore the Gracie Allen Golden Pup stare-of-disappointment and grab the vacuum cleaner, wondering if sugar explodes if you suck it into a tiny bag filled with hot air and dog hair.
Forget the Pop-Tart. The oatmeal. The caffeine. Now, I’m thinking whiskey shot or Bloody Mary. At least with the Mary you get a serving of veg.
I sit down at the computer. Click open a window and type — Tag, You’re It!
Lucy or Ethel? Your call.
Let’s just cast our eyes here until Friday rolls in. This is either Kenneybunk or Kenneybunkport, Maine. I can’t remember on which side of the walking bridge I was standing. Right now, I would settle for the balcony or the boat. Who’s with me?