For the Love of Burpees

I have a great trainer. He’s evil.

A good personal trainer is like a good therapist. These days, my trainer is equal parts trainer and therapist, probably because it’s easier for me to text Terry the Torturer and say, “let’s work out,” thank it is to call and try to fit an appointment into my schedule, just to talk to my therapist. Also, Terry throws workouts and threats at me if I don’t contact him first–there aren’t many therapists that threaten you with “Cardio of Death” if you don’t call and set up an appointment. If they exist, I’ve yet to find them.

Now, for the burpees.

Were you aware of the plethora of burpee varieties?! For many months, it was the Spartan Burpee that was the favored torture device. My sassy sarcasm lead to hundreds of spartan burpees. There were Burpees Around the World, which is an adorable way to say, “do burpees the entire distance around the gym’s track.” Then, for funsies, add a broad jump. Or a squat. Or both!

Over the last two weeks, I have had a lot of (justified, in my opinion) excuses for not making time to work out. Terry, of course, has no sympathy. It’s part of what makes him a good fit for me–I have excuses for days, and he won’t accept any of them. Find the time; make the time. It is just that easy, but, gosh, it is just as easy to say, “not today. I have too much work to do.”

The problem with every excuse is that I work in a gym. Plus I have a home gym. And I also have a goal that Terry refuses to let me forget about setting.

These days, the burped of choice is a lovely combination of burped and high-knee jump squat action. Just when you begin to think burpees can’t get worse, they get SO much worse! According to him, there will be more varieties–most likely, they will be worse than the current variety.

Maybe I should hire Terry to come to my house and threaten me with more burpees if I don’t do the dishes. But if I’m completely honest with myself, having to do dishes is so much worse than burpees.

How Did I Pass Kindergarten!?

Working with a trainer this past month has taught me 2 things about myself: I have to learn how to run, and I can’t jump rope.

Excuse me what?!

While my kids were home on spring break, I was given the task of jumping rope during one of my at home workouts. It was the worst. 100 passes took me most of the day. How could an activity children do for fun, be so evil!? My heart was pounding, I was unbelievably sweaty. It was brutal. What a workout.

Last Tuesday, Terry the Tormentor brought jump rope back to our workout routine. 50 passes. Ok, Sam. Deep breath, you can do this…until I hit 20something and he shouts, “what?! What?! No no no. Stop. What are you doing!?” Everything wrong, that’s what. He asked if Justin had ever seen me jump rope. Um, NO! He’s never seen me pee either, and I’m ok with keeping both activities private from him, thank you!

Of course, with my poor jump roping skills, and my poor running technique, I was left wondering: how in the world did I ever graduate from Kindergarten!?

Before you start thinking too hard about what I’m doing wrong, I’ll tell you. I’m kick my feet up to my butt, bend my knees, swing my arms like wild windmills. Do I jump over the rope? Obviously. Can I do it multiple times in a row? Of course! Am I putting way too much effort into what everyone else makes look like a simple task? You have no idea.

I watched as the surrounding men in the gym subtly relocated away from my wildly swinging rope, with a look of fear and amazement in their eyes, as if to say, “what is she doing,” and “I don’t want to die.” I don’t blame them. I would move away from my awkwardly, wild swinging rope too! Nothing about what I do makes sense, and it all seems dangerous.

I can color in the lines, and I can write my name. Kindergarten PE: Fail.