Confessions of an idiot #224:
So ten days ago, while recovering from a stomach ailment, i decided to go Trampolining at Sky High... you know, jumping on those HUGE elastic thingys that make you jump up in the air like a featherless fried dodo bird?
So, who do i go with? i go with an Ex-gymnast. A russian one at that! A communist trained machine who is made up of gummy bear legs and pretzel ligaments who can jump up, twist
into a figure eight, and land on his tippy toes, while at the same time balance a plate on a straw on the tip of his eyelashes.
Ooooh. It was so much fun, at first.... 1st jump, 2nd jump, 3rd jump. Boing, boing, boing.. higher, higher, even higher... At this point, i am flying. Well, at least in my own mind i am... Look at me, look at me... It's a bird, no! it's an airplane... Fuck you bitch, i am Superwoman, Wonder Woman and Buttercup, the Powerpuff girl wrapped into one...
As Comrade Gummybearovsky is doing front somersaults, [what the hell is a somersault anyway? as opposed to a WinterSault? Or maybe a FallPepper!] ... and back flips, i am flapping my imaginary wings, ... 'cause i am a butterfly and god darn it, i can fly!... Did you know that the harder you swing your arms UP in the air, the higher you go? And of course, when you have the elegance of an elephant, and the weight of Hippopotamus, along w/ the flying skills of a Rhinoceros, man, you can fly HIGH, cause the heavier you are when you land, the heavier the bounce UP. [see, i did learn something in Physics class... and no, i was NOT sleeping the whole time]
At this point of my exercising adventure, and in training for the upcoming 5k, and totally inspired by my own gracefulness, not having jumped so exuberantly since; uh, let me think, EVER; i decide to increase the challenge of the exercise by jumping up, sitting on my butt, lifting my self out the bounce by moving my arms as far up as i can, only to jump up and down and to come down on my knees, and repeat the same freaking asinine, inane and childish move over and over and OVER again while screaming with glee: "look at me... look at me".
Tavarich Ruski, that traitor whose kneecaps i will break when i see him next! That backstabber, double-crosser, renegade, fifth columnist, Judas, whose silence was tantamount to treason ... kept urging me on to jump higher.. higher... He even egged me on to do frontal flips, ... you Benedict Arnold!
i jumped, until i could no more.... and when i could jump no more, with legs that wobbled, and thigh muscles that quivered like jello, i dragged myself out of the trampoline pit and flopped on the couch like a boneless chicken on the cutting board, barely able to move my arms, take a deep breath, or move my abdominal muscles...
What i lacked for in muscle tone, i have paid back in abdominal muscle tear. What body part i had maintained uninjured all these years, I managed to strain, jar and twist out of shape within a very few short minutes.
Ten days later, i can barely take a deep breath without having the wind knocked out of my back... I can barely do more a sit up. ... uh, never mind, i could never do a sit up. But crunches hurt. As does getting up, moving around and putting on my bra.
So, if you see me walking around in short steps, with my boobs hanging over my knees, my hair disheveled from pain, and my back hunched over like Quasimodo, make sure you come up to me and congratulate me on slim mind, my lightweight analytical skills, and my thin brain. Clearly, i have managed to keep something slim and lithe.
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