Innocence exhausted (Fat camp, week 4).

I talk quite often about the beauty of people who have known you before you knew yourself.  My Facebook friends list is full of them.  Some are people who I have known since 3-year-old Sunday School.

My girls have a little bit of that going on.  Amelia in particular.

Amelia’s best friend is a wee pixie named Meggy.  Meggy is 4 months younger than Mimi. (This was taken a year ago by Meggy’s mom who happens to be  a fantastic photographer.  The girls were 2 1/2.)

When they are together they are adorable and loud and messy and naughty and…amazing.  They squeal at each other at a pitch that, I’m sure, only dogs can hear.  They babble and hug until they roll around on the floor in a fit of giggles.

And, now that they are older, they can entertain each other for hours.  Meggy came home with us for an afternoon at our house while the rest of her family visited a friend in Lincoln.  Meggy and Amelia sat next to each other in the van.  Ella was uncharacteristically quiet.

Amelia:  Meggy…Knock, knock.

Meggy:  Who’s there?

Amelia:  Fart butt!!!!

Crazy, psychotic laughing.  From both girls.

Amelia:  Knock, knock

Meggy:  Who’s there?

Amelia:  Poopy!!!!

Again with the laughing.  All the way home.  50 minutes of bathroom humor delivered by my innocent angel.

The upside is that they played and played for about 6 hours and I never heard from either girl.  They didn’t get into trouble or fight or cry. 

If this keeps up, they could end up with the world’s longest friendship.  And who am I to squelch a little potty humor in the name of decency?

In other news, my coughing has abated and I am full on back to Fat Camp.  And, apparently, offending everyone.  An equal opportunity offender.

Wait.  I’ll back up.  I had some PT on Saturday morning where I pressed and dead lifted a Romanian and torqued my hamstrings and marched up flights of stairs on the stair mill. 

Oh, the stair mill.  This is different from the stairmaster.  All I had ever known of a stair-anything is this:

Up, down, left, right.  Except no personal TV screen.  This was the staple of my workouts from the time I was old enough to be in the fitness room at our small town YMCA.  It was the size of my living room and had one stair climber, one schwinn air-dyne bike and a bunch of nautilus machines.  And a wall of mirrors. 

We’ve come so far.

But she had me on this, the stair mill:

The stairs?  They move.  The upside is that I can see the whole gym from the top stair.  The downside is that it takes a butt-load of work to stay on the top stair.  Molly says that the stair mill is good if you want to get your heart rate up in a hurry. 

No shit.

Two minutes (and 6 flights) later and my heart rate was about 162 (zone 4 if you are keeping track). 

No wonder people look like they are dying when they are on it.  Thusly, I have never wanted to attempt the stair mill.  I still don’t like it.

I thought was going to escape the soreness.  I felt pretty good the rest of the day Saturday and most of the day Sunday.  By Sunday night, I was a little on the hobbly side.  Today?  Crippled.  Hamstring crippled.

So, I’m getting a little cocky at Fat Camp.  Gone are the days where I wanted to blend it.  Be in the middle.  Not call attention to myself or those around me. 

I strategically place myself between the biggest person in class and the smallest.  (The smallest to inspire, the biggest to feed my ego.)  (I’m being honest.)  I don’t walk all that fast and I’m okay with it but I am learning to run.  Turns out, I’m a decent sprinter.  I can run at a 6.2 for about a minute and a half before I see stars.  At a 2 incline.  But ask me to “Jog” at, say, a 4.8 for 10 minutes and I will die right there. 

I wish I could figure it out.  My lungs and heart seem to not hold me back.  I think it’s the pounding.  I don’t like how my legs feel?  Or something?  It just doesn’t feel right.  It feels like I might trip if I don’t slow down or speed up.  Awkward.  But when I speed up, I think my lungs might actually expel from my body.  And when I slow down…that’s not good enough any more.

But how did I potentially offend?  We were in nutrition class (it is Monday, after all) and discussing how good Fish Oil is.  Again.  Just like we did last week.  This week it was about how we all have inner inflammation and fish oil helps that.  I already take 2 capsules (2000 iu) a day.  My question was “how much is too much”  as in “Can you o.d. on fish oil”?  The nutritionist rambled about how each capsule contains 1g of fat and if you took 10 of them then it would be 90 extra calories.

She could have just said “no”.  Do I look like 90 calories is going to make or break me?

Somebody else mentioned the recent study about how too much fish oil can give you mercury poisoning.  The nutritionist pointed out that we should get our fish oils from a reputable company to avoid that.

So I say…

Yeah, our hearts will be healthy but the mercury will make us all retarded.

The half of the class that knows me laughed.

The other half?  Looked at me like I had kicked a puppy.

It’s a word.  Whatever. 

The kicker though is that she argued with me.  “Mercury won’t make you…retarded.”

Umm…yeah it will.  It causes brain issues.  That’s why we were told not to eat too much tuna while pregnant.  It could contain mercury which could harm the baby.  And don’t get me started on the vaccine thing.

Class over.

I do love my fish oil. 

Even if it does make me retarded…I sure feel better.


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