The idea that I might be healthy enough to exercise with any regularity is a novel unto itself, full of conflict, suspense, and plot twists. But today, I will spare you the humiliating look into vast depths of what sloth-ism looks like and get right into why I am mildly curious about squats and all the pain that rightfully accompanies said exercise.

Recently, I was required to walk down scandalous flights of stairs from the skyscraper I work in during a routine fire drill. Ok, maybe it was just 11 floors, but it may as well have been 111. I was shaky by the time I reached the door with a neon exit sign gently pointing the way to the nearest resting spot. As I descended each floor, I thought I heard my calves scream obscenities about this unexpected evil punishment. That might have actually been my real voice, but the lack of oxygen to my brain prohibited rational thought processes at the time.

While our company’s fire Marshal made the rounds to ascertain if all occupants had safely exited the imagined Towering Inferno, I tried to pretend I was on the phone with our firm’s most important client. She was having none of it! She looked squarely into my lying eyes and announced, “Get Out.” I sheepishly replaced the phone in the cradle, but not until after I grandly announced to my pretend caller that I had to exit due to a fire alarm. Hey, a girl needs to save face every now and then.

The days that followed the fire drill were worse still. I gently sought extra support each time I got up to go to the coffee machine or microwave. I even used the metal bars on each wall of the stall when I was done using the … well, you know. Going down several flights of stairs should not hinder my life in such a dramatic fashion. This is why I decided to look into squats.

As you may have gleaned from previous Workout Wednesday posts, I don’t claim to be one of those perky Zumba moms that walk around with a gluten-free, glowing green, vitamin enhanced shake that promises to suck the fat out of my body at the micro-cellular level. I’m an honest to goodness fair-weathered exerciser. Sure, I walk in the token 5k for the Susan G. Komen Foundation each year, and I have been known to hula hoop for a good cause. But to say that I am in good shape or claim to have enough experience to advise you on how to one-up your Boot Camp partner would be a blatant lie at best.

I am delighted to tell you that my building was not on fire, no one slugged our fire Marshal, and I’m now up to 18 squats before sitting down to rest my weary thighs and screaming calves.  I also found that eating a Snickers chocolate bar not only raises my energy level but also improves my attitude. Heck, who knows? Maybe one of these days I might even attempt to walk up 11 flights of stairs. Bwahaha – Nah!


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