Don’t go looking for weeks 2 and 3. They don’t exist. Didn’t happen.
To sum up, I wasn’t getting better. I went back after the first round of antibiotics and came home with a full-blown pneumonia and bronchitis diagnosis. I got another (bigger, better, more expensive) round of antibiotics, an oral steroid to take for 2 weeks, a steroid shot in the butt cheek (my littles thought that was hi-larious and still talk about it to anyone at all) and breathing treatments. But no codeine. Bitches. Not nice.
It was also suggested by at least three non-medical personnel that I consider going the adult diaper route next time this happens. Again, bitches. Not nice.
I am much better. Power to the Levaquin. I did nothing but sleep, eat carbs and (judging from the condition of my living room) not a damn thing else. For two weeks solid. The littles ate lots of sandwiches and cereal and I tell myself that I don’t feel a bit bad about it. They’ll live.
Today marked my return to the real world, the world of Fat Camp. Didja miss me, Fat Camp? Probably not but I missed you. I really did. I missed the post-workout meal that is ever so tasty because I know I earned it. I missed the time just for me. I missed my friends.
I did not, however, miss the treadmill at a 14 incline for several minutes and I did not miss feeling like my lungs had been dry cleaned. I found that 2 weeks off didn’t cause much of a loss in strength. That’s what I was worried about, to be honest. I did find that it was hard to maintain any kind of cardio endurance. I suspect that my lungs aren’t 100% yet. I have 2 weeks left to train before my next 30 minute run and the midpoint of Fat Camp so there’s still time to build that back up.
How’s that for being positive? Even with the 14…oh no…15 treadmill incline and how, apparently, I don’t get to do squats empty handed anymore…even then I kept my sense of humor. But there are limits.
And I don’t know why this bothers me. It shouldn’t. I can’t let it. But if I don’t say it here, I will possibly embarrass myself later.
I’ve given the rundown of the class right? The friends, the super-fit, the middle-aged, the young punks…
The young punks.
So there’s these two girls. I don’t know how old they are…18, 19, 20? I’m not great at guessing age anymore; I’m just going by how they talk, what they talk about, how they talk to each other and their general apathy towards Fat Camp.
These two girls didn’t break a sweat tonight. I cooked off 900 calories and required a full shower. These two girls, apparently, can’t count to 15. We were to do 15 each of squats, presses, rows, stepups. I think that, like dancers, they can’t count past eight. (A-5!-6!-7!-8!) (I love dancers but that’s an old joke I couldn’t resist). They half ass every freaking thing they are asked to do. No! Not half ass. Quarter ass.
Do you think they just woke up one day and said “Let’s join a gym!”?
“Oh yes, capital idea! And let’s spend a grand between us to NOT do the work!”
“Oh, yes, lets!”
Why does this bother me so much? Is it a generational difference issue? Is it the sound of their voices? Is it that I perceive it to be a giant waste of resources for them to be there? Is it because they, clearly, NEED to be there but seem to care less?
I want to ride their asses and be a total bitch. I’m already the treadmill sheriff, guarding the class treadmills from random winter wannabe runners. Do I have to go all “Hold my purse, Molly! Ima cut a bitch!” The sad part is that they are probably losing weight and I am not. So unfair that those girls have young metabolisms and I can have one freaking cupcake and weigh two pounds more by morning.
I might be fat. I might be mouthy.
But I? Do everything that has ever been asked of me. I do the work.
I guess I thought we were all in Fat Camp together because we cared about our health or want to look better naked. It shouldn’t bother me and maybe I should just congratulate them (with a certificate because this is the generation that gets certificates for everything they’ve ever done) for taking the first step.
But, girls, shut up and walk faster.