We’re in the safe space, right? I can say stuff between us friends and you won’t tell anyone, right? Thanks. That makes me feel so much better. I’m about to say some stuff about myself that’s um… embarrassing. So, if you’re not down with that, then just skip ahead to the lunge workout.
Let’s start from the top. I’m in a bit of a stressful period of my life. Ya know, the whole global pandemic thing, and then earthquakes, and then we’re trying to sell our house… and buy a house… not get the Rona… and stay fit while drinking like a college freshman… and get my kids through homeschooling… and not spend all my money at www.doordash.com.
My body handles stress in two ways.
1) My feet hurt. Like, my arches can give me about 10 minutes of pain free walking/exercise until they cramp. My wife enjoys going for walks… I enjoy whiskey. 2) I get crazy dry skin. My face starts to look like a buttery biscuit and my scalp starts emitting enough mana to feed Moses and the rest of the Hebrews. Not surprisingly, my kids often say my face/hair are disgusting and then, I feel worse.
Sidebar: one time, a coworker said, in the middle of a meeting, “wow dan, you have really bad dandruff.”
We’re all in a tough spot. I know I’m not the only one. Just a cartoon version of what some of you are dealing with. I’m standing underneath the X, and still acting surprised when the anvil drops on my head.
I’ve worked out 4 times in April. Which is amazing, because the first half of April was 17 minutes long. And pathetic, because the last week lasted 17 years. I’ve grown old in the COVID era. Maybe I’m going bald, but it’s more likely that I’m just scratching so profusely on my head that hair and dead skin are bailing.
Anyways. I needed to workout. Joanie has been working her butt off (great butt) and feeling all sorts of motivated, and I enjoy whiskey. I’m turning into the sloppy husband with a trophy wife. Which isn’t bad, but ya know, in this economy… things are looking rough for me.
Alternating Single Dumbbell Lunges
Dumbbell Goblet Squats
Finish with: Vertical Dumbbell Carry, 400 Meters
Using the trusty 25 lb Dumbbell. I’m out front of our house. The twins are social distance-hanging with the neighbor while Joanie has the Baby outside. Aran smiles at me and points every time I look at him. At first, I think it’s cute. Until I realize, he’s just shocked that I’m exercising and is trying to babble-tell his mom to take pictures so there’s a record of his father attempting to sweat on purpose.
3… 2… 1… Go!
We’re still in a safe space, right? Thanks. I suck sooo bad at lunges. Find a lunge workout and you’ll see me dodging it. They make my heart ache. I hate them more than I hate my skin. Multiplied by how much I hate carrying dumbbells.
Yet, I choose not to dodge this lunge workout because I’m a man of the people. Gotta give y’all what you want.
20 lunges in and I want to quit.
I don’t really like y’all that much.
22 lunges in and I can hear Aran shout something. He’s able to say specific words. Also, he has a lot of gibberish that sounds like swear words. I’m listening to music, and it sounds like my baby is cursing more than the gangster rap in my ears.
“Dada bish mafa, this, sheet, suck. No.”
You ain’t lying, my boy.
My legs are tight. Hammies are feeling the burn and the squirm. There’s never a good time to hate everything, huh?
Easy money. 25 lbs is light weight. I can’t remember if these are Russian swings or standard, and I can’t remember which is which anyways. I’m just going to raise this dumbbell over my head and hope for the best.
40 reps, unbroken. Like a boss. Go ahead and gibber-swear at me now, baby.
Being that this is a lunge workout, my under girth is now feeling tender. Goblet squats tear into the tenderloins and make me internally squeal like I’m at a Justin Timberlake concert.
I get 15 done. Then 12. And finish with 13, but not until my booty is full throbbing. Aran is yelling at me, but I have the music turned up because I can’t bear to hear his adorable little voice and assume he’s unknowingly cursing at me.
Sidebar: is there a more painful death stare than one from a toddler? When Aran, aka Sweet Roy, gets mad at me… his little eye daggers cut me deeper than Sheryl Crow. His hatred is almost as painful as a lunge workout.
Vertical Dumbbell Carry, 400 Meters
I really need to invest in a measuring apparatus. Something to get a better gauge on how far I’m going. Last time I measured 400 outside of my house, I think I ran a 10k when I supposed to run a 5k.
This kind of dumbbell carry is awkward. I’m holding one of the heavy ends, while keeping the other heavy end up by my face. If this were an ice cream sandwich, I would have eaten it.
I have no idea why I said that, sorry.
Instead of trying to walk 400 meters straight, I measured off 25 meters and decided to go down-and-back 8 times. It’s probably wrong, but I’m exhausted by the end.
I paused at 200 and 300 meters, but only taking enough time to realize that it’s almost over and I can never do another lunge workout again… until next week.
Thanks for sticking out with me. I appreciate it.