i have a friend. She inspires one to exercise greatness. Well, at least she inspires one to watch exercise greatness.
Recently i rejoined the gym i used to belong to, and that she has belonged to all this time i've been struggling with the whole fibromyalgia thing. She's over 40, toned and terrific looking. i am in awe. But the fact that i feel good enough to go back to the gym says much for the mighty and miraculous workings of Cymbalta.
She is sweet enough to come down to my level and join me on the treadmills. Side by side we walk and talk--she at breakneck speed, her incline at heart-strain steepness, me wandering slowly, which is all it takes to keep my heart rate in the goal range.
i was on the treadmill recently when she was taking a step class. Do you all know what a step class is?? There's a wide free-standing and stackable step in front of each participant. The work-out consists of various bouncy, constantly moving steps and turns and arm motions, all set to disco beat music. Think "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" on Ritalin. Friend Sabrina-Frugalina was a-boppin' and a-movin' through the routine with a spring in her step and constant motion for an hour. i gazed in amazement from my ambling gait on the treadmill.
It occurred to me what different roles in life we take--she is the spiciness of pepper, jazzing up anything nearby. She's a full-on participator.
i am salt. i count on simply enhancing other flavors, my life is more like a slow-simmer. Crock pot cooking.
Our gym and life soundtracks would greatly differ as well. Hers is the sound of an energetic disco Christmas, mine is the sound of Brahm's lullaby, slow and lulling.
i'm not judging the different styles, but she gets way more done. And has a tighter butt.
The face of too much shopping.
and autumn leaves...
and leaf-play.
The faces of family.