I am thinking I should start a whole different blog section called "Today's Humiliation" and share with you the comedy of my workouts with DBT. Here is today's story.
About half way through our hour workout, DBT gets out the ol' step aerobics bench. You remember it from the early 90s, right? It looks like this:
I start feeling pretty confident because mine is the generation that grew up on Jane Fonda so I know my way around a step aerobics bench.
Next thing I know, he has four of the little purple risers on each side of the bench and I think he is going to make me jump up onto it. But you all remember, don't you? DBT never stops at level one of hell.
He instructs me to straddle the bench and plunge into a deep squat. So when I squat, I am almost sitting on the bench, one leg on either side. But my bum is not allowed to touch. OK. Now, I am to jump up from the sides of the bench, onto the bench, and dip down into another squat on top of it.
I do my 20 reps, with my ass and thighs shaking with exhaustion. "Land lightly," he says. "On your toes. Softly. Like a ballerina."
You have been reading my blog long enough now that you know what I want to say back, right? But I don't. I just close my eyes and try to survive.
Next thing I know, he's got a 10 lb medicine ball in his hands. Oh good, I think. We're done with these squats. But. Alas, we are not done with the squats. We are moving on to Advanced Hell.
While I am jumping from the floor onto the bench, he is going to throw the ball at me. I am not to catch it, I am to toss it back to him - kind of just push it back. Honest to God, people. I could not make this up.
I cannot even describe how hard this is for me. It takes coordination that I am quite sure I do not possess. Not to mention muscles which I know I do not possess.
The absurdity of the situation does not stop here, though. Because out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a face I recognize. Let me tell you that the last thing you want to do with a 10 lb medicine ball coming at your face is get distracted, but that is exactly what happens to me. Because the face I recognize is Steve Young, famous 49ers quarterback, whom I have heard (and now can confirm) works out at this gym.
And so, it is with Steve Young watching that I end up with a 10 lb medicine ball whacking me straight in the nose, causing me to stumble backwards off the bench, because for one brief second I stop paying attention to my Squats from Hell.
DBT is kind and compassionate and concerned, although he still makes me finish the set.
As I am driving home, nursing my sore nose and my pride, the only thing that makes me feel a little better is that while Steve Young was stretching on the floor, I saw his underwear. He saw me get whacked in the nose, I saw his underwear. It's even now, wouldn't you say?