It isn’t that I don’t have anything to say. On the contrary, I have A LOT to say…I just can’t say it. And for anyone who knows how incredibly hard it is for me to not say things…you know how difficult this has been for me.
Eventually, I won’t have to speak in tongues anymore and can fully express all of my many ridiculous feelings via this platform…but until then, I will just have to leave you with a consolation prize…what is it?
Well, for those of you who already knew me as ‘girl’, this isn’t going to seem very treat-like at all since I am basically just going to regurgitate an oldie-but-goody. But for you new folks, I hope you can take this morsel of writing from my past and forgive me for my blog ignoring indiscretions.
hog·tie or hog-tie (hôg't1' , h g' -) tr.v. hog·tied: To tie together the feet or legs of.
I hogtied myself to the weight bench at the gym once. My friend, Laura, and I were doing the crazy-psycho-go-to-the-gym-at-5:30-in-the-butt-cold-morning plan and we were doing rather well. Well enough to not warrant any side looks from the regulars...the other crazy psychos who showed up every day at that hour. One of the regulars was a VERY handsome man whose name we did not know and with whom we rarely ever even made eye contact with (even though we shared the same 5 weight benches three days of every week...and even though I thought I was going to marry him someday).
About two months into our crazy-psycho program, I was on the weight bench doing my upper body exercises. The weight bench has two sections to it, and they both adjust for angle. At the end of the smaller section of the weight bench is a lever to help you move it, like a wheelbarrow. I was lying on the bench and had finished the exercise I was sleeping through and started to get up so I could grab a different set of weights. Laura was to my right on the next bench over, fighting her way through her set of reps on her highest weight. Also to my right was a pile of HUGE 80lb dumbbells that are only in the gym so that guys can brag about that one time they picked up the 80lb weight and moved it. Of course, if they can all pick up the weight, what would be so wrong about them putting it back?!! But I digress.
As I stood up, my left sweatpant leg got wrapped around the lever at the front of the bench. I, being unaware of this issue, proceeded to continue to step forward with my left leg. I had just started complete, dedicated momentum to my right, when the sweatpant leg tightened causing my left leg to trap my right ankle and I went flailing to the ground between the two benches and landed on top of the stack of 80lb dumbbells.
Instead of rushing to my aid, Laura (who, to her credit was very concerned about not dropping her dumbbells on top of me) focused on asking me “Are you ok?, Are you ok?” as she thoughtfully tried to confirm that I had not fallen because I had fainted. I, however, was completely consumed with trying to release myself from the bench, and did not hear her. Try as I might, I could not get my legs untangled and every move I made just ended up cinching me even tighter to the lever. As I lay writhing on the ground, laughing, snorting, flailing, crying, etc., cute gym guy came over to investigate. He took one look at my sweatpants wrapped around the bench, glanced at me and tossed out a lackadaisical, “Ya’ need help with that?” before gently flicking my sweatpants off the lever (as though it was the easiest thing in the world), thereby releasing me from my bondage while he walked away.
Ok then…so much for that marriage.