Creative workouts

The Hero and I, along with hundreds of other slackers, have made our annual New Year's trek to pay homage to the workout machines at our local Y. We are proud to say that we have made it there two weeks in a row. Plus, we have actually used a piece of equipment or two while there. For example, I personally have pumped the handwashing soap dispenser, in an energetic manner, several times during my two visits.


My arm hurt for a few days, but I have vowed not to give up. 


The computerized tracking system keeps track of how much weight we lift while on the machines. If we are lifting the weights too fast, the system flashes a warning: Try to slow down! This is because controlled lifting is the key to actually working your muscles, and also because the persons who design the tracking system are masochists. They WANT you to feel pain. 


What some of us need is to have the system sense that we are lifting the weights too slowly. In such a case it would go into snooze mode, and eventually emit snoring sounds loud enough for those around us to hear. Theoretically this would shame us into putting a little more effort into our workouts, or failing that, to go work out with the handwashing dispenser some more.


The Hero, having lifted some 2,000 pounds on various machines over our two visits, looks forward to receiving an email congratulating him on lifting .14 of an elephant. I think I can look forward to an email congratulating me on lifting an entire giant puffball mushroom.


In the event that I miss a time or two at the Y -- which, given our history there, is more than likely -- I have a backup exercise routine designed by Old Man Winter. This routine occurs on mornings when it is below freezing and there has been some precipitation, and all the frozen precipitation gathers itself together in the door lock mechanism on my car. This renders the locks inoperable, and they will NOT unlock, even though they make little token noises of doing so when the remote is pressed. The key is equally powerless to make them open. Here begins the exercise routine, which goes something like this:


1. In between frantic pressing of the remote, as you hear the locks making noise and taunting you, try to open the door handle. This will be fruitless, but is an important step.* 


*We're not sure WHY, other than that people in desperate situations are probably destined to try useless solutions.


2. Run around to the other side of the car and repeat Step 1 with another door, even though you know this, too, will be in vain.


3. Carefully survey the surrounding area to make sure no one is about to witness your next move.


4. If you observe no one, unlock the hatchback with the remote -- which, thankfully, never seems to be affected by the weather -- open both the lower and upper doors, and, with one additional glance around, crawl inside the back of the car. 


5. Crawl over the back seat, in your nice work outfit, with your bag, your lunch, your purse, etc. Dump all the belongings in the front seat. From the back seat, put the key in the ignition and start the car, remembering to put the defrost on full blast.


6. Grab the ice scraper, back out of the rear of the car, and run around all four sides of the car to scrape the windows. (If this is starting to sound somewhat similar to a Chinese fire drill, it sort of is similar.)


7. Crawl back inside the rear of the car and close both doors of the hatch behind you. Make your way over the back seat, then over the front seat and into the driver's seat.


8. Drive off, congratulating yourself on not only outwitting your frozen locks but also burning 263 calories in the process.


9. Suddenly realize that, since the door locks are frozen, and the hatch cannot be opened from the inside of the car, you are now effectively trapped in the car.


At this point it's important to not panic. Remember that you have shown great ingenuity in getting the car going thus far, so there is only one thing left for such an ingenious person as you to do:


10. YELL FOR YOUR MOM.