Pump It Up

I received a sort of frantic message from my gym's head office. "I know you're all ready to take RPM instruction, but I need you more now in BodyPump."

So now I'm back to my original plan and am a little freaked out because it's way tougher. I also requested to take instruction next month in Burlington (the other options were Windsor or Calgary - and I have to pay my own expenses). However, GoodLife bought a new chain of gyms and their existing trainers and instructors will be going for Pump certification in Burlington. That being said, they're desperate for me to start asap so I have five (FIVE) people at head office shuffling things around for me so they can fit me in with these hard bodies. Great. It's going to suck so hard for me.

On the one hand, these people are brand new to BodyPump where I have been taking the class for three years. On the other hand, they're already fitness instructors. I'm a short 40-year-old mother of three who doesn't say no to cherry cheesecake.

I hope I can go through all three days without crying.

A Moment On the Lips and a Lifetime On the Hips

"A Scottish Treat" read the sign at the apple fritter kiosk at the local farmer's market. Curious, Daughter and I decided to fork over the $2 and give it a whirl.

What is it?

Hands up if you said, "Deep fried Mars bar." I am so not kidding.

It's battered and then deep fried for, I swear, five minutes. It has to be the richest thing I have ever ingested. Daughter and I split it and we couldn't finish it. And, yet, I know of an Irish girl who can eat two-and-a-half in one go.

Having been turned off by this was not the reason why I'm glad Husband hired the fresh-off-the-boat Portuguese immigrant over the been-here-30-years-and-still-has-a-brogue older Scottish dude. He's looking for a lab technician and put in ads all over. The Portuguese guy has been in Canada for two years, reasonably good English, wife, two young children. He's currently in the last month covering a maternity leave but will need to buy a car to get to work out here in the country. The Scottish guy was in his mid to late 50s, pretty much runs a lab but wants a slower pace.

I was thinking of writing about the details of Husband's decision-making process, but I'll refrain though I do believe he made the right choice. Let's just say that sometimes I really don't understand the guy.

A Change Will Do You Good

Middle Sister, do you like this layout now?

She said my last layout was too faint for her. Hopefully, this works for everyone because, God knows, the whole damned world should be reading what my spawn are up to.

Such a fascinating life I lead, eh?

Oh, and, JP, I'm all for Trojans in Teen Packs. You forgot I volunteered at the birth control clinic out in Squidney.

I'm Becoming My Mother: Chapter 5

Perhaps only my sisters and maybe my cousin C would understand, but I'm having another "I'm feeling old" day.

I bought Daughter her first Shopper's Drug Mart Teen Pack.

I am now going to listen to some James Last, pour myself a G & T and pull the rocker on the porch. And weep at how time flies.

As always, comments are welcomed. You can do them anonymously. Just be kind.

Putting the Rocker on the Porch

Ever since Husband's birthday (my younger man), he's been quite down in the dumps. His age, it appears, has slapped him upside the head. And it hurt him.

He's generally happy with how his life is turning out. He says he doesn't really have any regrets about things he's done or failed to do.

What gets him is how big his forehead is getting. What gets him is that he notices he isn't as fit as he once was (still stick-figurish but now with minimal muscle tone). What gets him is that he is suddenly middle-aged and feels it.

Then there's me. I'm doing okay. I wear my age like a badge of honour. I'm being pro-active about my health. I just need to do something about my job. So, yeah, I can't say I've been the most supportive wife there ever was. "You're younger than me," I say to him, half joking, "so suck it up and get 'er done."

Middle Sister is another one who doesn't like aging. I've never heard her complain about herself but she has a problem with my advancing age. On my 18th, she was nauseous at the speed at which my life was slipping through my fingers. Since that birthday, cards from her were always signed, "I can't believe you're (fill in the age)!" When I turned 40, she was in a downright funk that I might as well have been 140.

I don't think I'm alone in having an image of myself frozen in time – around 20. In fact, I have recurring nightmares of looking down at my university class schedule and not knowing where the hell to go (or feeling that I've missed so many classes). I don't shop at Tan Jay and have no intention of doing so. Granted, once the wrinkles are more pronounced, I'll probably have to tone down or abandon the Dita von Teese/Amy Winehouse School of Makeup. I don't want to scare the kids like the local middle-aged woman with the white hair and black lipstick and blush look does.

Which reminds me: The Slits are back together! Ari Up is a grandmother now. Which would make her husband, Johnny Rotten, a grandfather.

Wait until I mention that to Husband. It will make him feel so old.

You Spin Me Round

I was asked by a fitness instructor to consider instructing BodyPump last winter. It's a low weight/high repetition exercise class.

So after jumping through a series of hoops, I had my audition today. Sort of.

I did an "extreme" spinning class for an hour and then spent the next hour at BodyPump. Then I met with the group exercise coordinator for our region of Ontario.

"As far as I'm concerned, you had your audition already," she said. "I strongly urge you to take up instructing RPM (the spinning class) instead. You're a natural."

"But I haven't been taking RPM nearly as long as Pump," I said.

"Look, take Pump instruction if you really, really want. But I could use someone like you in RPM. You have great posture, awesome strength. You have cadence and speed. Seriously, you'd do well and I plan on expanding the RPM schedules."

I start certification in September. Pedal on.

My (Free) Hi-Fi!

What's better than a stereo but a free stereo?!!

My professor friend, J, accepted a position at an American university and is purging. The family needed a good home for Granny's hi-fi which J was given but never hooked up.

"I thought 'retro' and thought of you!"

So, upon my pleading, Husband helped to move some furniture around the dining room and I hooked up this sweet Pioneer/Technics system and – get this – the speakers are made by Enigma. Funk-a-dunk-dunk!

I unearthed some of my albums, much to the curiosity of the boys. The first one I pulled out was The Who's Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy. God, it was awesome to hear again that fullness of sound that albums give.

Then I started in on a bunch more: Bowie, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, The Bunnymen. Ah, the spoils of youth!

Then I started in on stuff I haven't heard in probably 20 years: The Mighty Lemon Drops, Japan, The Gruesomes (man, they were great! What are they doing now? Probably real estate agents in Pointe Claire or something).

Then I started getting silly, listening to Kajagoogoo, Captain Sensible, John Denver's Christmas album (only my sisters understand that one).

I'm waiting for Husband to get home from the golf course (yes, he's golfing in the pouring rain. It's like a demanding mistress or something). He'll be impressed that I got it hooked up and working. And then he'll crack out his Rick Springfield records to, yet again, prove to me that: a) I met him when I did because I wouldn't have given him the time of day before that, and b) we really don't have much in common.