On Monday Tim assessed my fitness in an effort to target my weight lifting regimen to meet my goals.
There was a “Flexibility” Test and a “Push-Up” Test and a “How-Far-Up-Can-You-Jump-and Touch-A-Spot-On-The-Wall” Test.
Measurements were taken at the bust, bicep, waist and thigh. And I went on the scale.
(Does this give you some idea how much I must trust Tim? I went on THE SCALE, people. And I told him THE NUMBER. I only do this for people in lab coats, with clip boards, wearing name tags, who have already taken my insurance numbers and a coupla vials of blood.
I weigh 111. My waist is 27 inches. I forget the bicep number and the thigh number, but he wrote it all down.
In the push-up department, I can barely do 8. My flexibility (ahem) is “above average.”
My goal is to have a 25 inch waist (by Thanksgiving) and to build my upper body strength to the point where I am able to bench press 80 lbs. (not by Thanksgiving.) This is what Tim’s assessment test results said I should be able to do.
So, what this means is that all my training from here on out is going to be focused on building upper body strength, and in the process, reducing belly fat. (omg I cannot believe I actually said the words “belly fat”)
But hey. Now that I think of it, if I put “Belly Fat” as the title of this post I might get hundreds of people to subscribe to this blog. Could work. Let’s make a game of it. If you want to hear more about my BELLY FAT, hit the RSS feed button right there on my sidebar above “Categories,” or up at the url address of this site. Go ahead. I dare you.)
So, back to the gym.
In the hand weight department, the heaviest ones I can I can pick up at this point (notice I did not say lift, I said “pick up”) are the 20s. I can maybe do 10 chest presses with the 20s, but only if Tim hands them to me once I get into position, and then takes them off my hands when I make that dog-just-hit-by-a-car whimpering sound.
I looked at the 40 lb hand weights today, and don’t tell Tim I said this, but I cannot even imagine the person I will have to morph into in order to pick up those babies. I will have to become…dare I say it? Strong.
Strong of body, I mean I am strong in lots of other ways, but I’ve never been strong in my body. I am somewhat flexible from years of yoga. And I can endure aerobic things for a while, and I can endure lots of mental pain and suffering.
I don’t even blink at the prospect of a root canal or an exam of my lady parts. But lifting very heavy things? No. You would never ask me to help you move your couch. Me, you would ask to move into the living room for coffee and cake.
I am kinda worried about this inability to conjure up in my imagination the me who will someday be able to hoist aloft 40 pound weights with nary a blink. Who will that person be?? What will she look like? What will she do with all this newfound strength?
Move your Barcalounger?
Kick up into a handstand?
I can’t fathom it.