It’s Friday the 13th and I did a workout. I have regrets.
Before this workout, I was convinced this would be a fun little burner. It felt like a nice active recovery with a little extra sweat. This week has been really exhausting but I was looking forward to this because I assumed this would be an enjoyable sweat sesh.
I was wrong.
I was out on the boat. Floating in my ignorance, while something was lurking under the surface.
Let’s get to it, eh?
As fast as possible.
I’m using the 25 lb dumbbell, because it’s my main squeeze.
Aran, AKA Roy, is pictured above. He’s going to watch me to do the workout. Or, more than likely, he’s going to start crying midway through the first round and then I’m going to feel like a terrible father and then I’m going to pick him up and then I’m going to put him in the bouncer and then he’s going to cry some more and then I’m going to beg my daughters to come watch him and then he’s going to cry upstairs and then I’m going to finish the workout while hating myself.
3… 2… 1… Go!
60 Dumbbell Clusters
Remember when I said this would be an active recovery? I member. It feels like so long ago.
That’s because it’s been 4 minutes. The first round was utterly exhausting. By the time I hit 40 reps, I’m questioning if I read the workout wrong. Here’s a pro tip from an amateur, if you’re doing a Friday the 13th workout, don’t be surprised when everything is hard.
60 Object Jumpovers
I jump over the dumbbell and spring back. Boingboing. Boingboing. I’m not a huge fan of doing anything 60 times. In college, I would sometimes drink 30 beers in a day. We’d call it a case race. The one time I won the race I ended up peeing on the kitchen floor and apologizing to my roommates.
Roy is crying.
My body is crying too, little bear. I thought the first round was awful, but we’re at minute 10 and I had hoped to finish this darn thing in 15 minutes. That ain’t happening. I’m hoping to get done around 30 minutes, and Aran is going to have a full-fledged meltdown. The best advice I can give for this gnarly Friday the 13th Workout: just chip away, but don’t bring a baby.
Especially a baby who is teething.
I ask the girls to come down and get their brother. These two little meatballs love being big sisters. Each is a better parent than I am. It ain’t particularly close, honestly. They come down stairs and look at the sweaty beast making his body into a flabby pogo stick and give me the most judgmental stare I’ve received since I told my mom I was going to get a Backstreet Boys tattoo on my lower back.
Just kidding, NSync forever.
It’s a good day to cry, Roy. I can hear my baby upstairs crying to his sisters, spouting out gibberish like he’s a drunken Irish grandma with a dyslexia reading the word “dada” 40 different times.
Hard to concentrate when that’s happening. This particular workout has become a microcosm for my December goals: I had good intentions, but my life (and tiny hooman) cares not for my intentions. They only want my attention.
I get 20 clusters down. Panting. Arms are wrecked. Legs are shaky. I’m an overweight Chihuahua in the cold.
The next 20 clusters were actually only 7 clusters.
I needed a break too soon.
How am I going to do 3 more sets of these?
The final 13 reps reminded me that this is a Friday the 13th workout and I’m supposed to be suffering.
Sidebar: Have you went back and rewatched any of these movies? My goodness. They’re terrible! My daughters love scary movies, and even they watch these and think they’re wayyyy too over the top and cheesy. Not quite as bad as Chucky, but the campy action sequences are worse than any Steven Seagal movie.
This is supposed to be the active rest portion. It would be too, if it weren’t for the volume of me-ness going on within my body. Jumping is hard work when you’re a fully grown adult. Don’t let these sweet calve muscles fool ya.
I don’t even want to talk about it.
See Jumpovers, 40.
Dude, this is sooo much easier than the last 400 sets! I can’t believe how much better I feel. It’s as if there was a block on my heart and it wasn’t until now that I could fully enjoy this unholy Friday the 13th Workout.
I’m boing-ing with new invigoration. There’s joy joy joy, down in my heart. Down in my heart, today.
Aran isn’t crying anymore. All the guilt is washed away. His sisters have reminded me that they’re going to always make up for my failures as a parent. They’re better people than I am. Pure love, sweetest hearts (except when they’re hungry).
I’m banging out these clusters with speed and control. Sure, I hurt all over, but the finish line is right there and I’m not about the fail at the end of my Friday the 13th Workout.
Don’t even come at my Jason. I jump high and far and even wide sometimes. No Crystal Lake mama’s boy is going to interrupt my 10 unbroken jumps.
Besides, I like Freddy more.