The Woes of a "Workout Noob" Part 2

Oh yeah. There's a Part Dos. Are you ready for this?

Shit is about to get real. (Just kidding. Maybe.)

This is basically "The Woes of a Workout Noob Getting Schooled by a Workout Pro."

So I, the workout noob in question, received the great privilege to tag along with an experienced workout... dude... and learn from his techniques.

I think I was somewhat wrong when I thought that was a great idea. I knew I had misgivings for a reason.

So when I initially noob-ed around alone, at least no one was actually watching me. I could tell myself that it was just me feeling embarrassed for myself, and no one was judging me because you know, people have better things to do. Like do their own workouts.

However, accompanied by someone who was specifically meant to show me the ropes, I pretty much had no choice but to be watched, and bear that burn of a superior's gaze.

Oh, the self-consciousness that ensued.

And when that fellow demonstrated certain techniques, I mean... I had to watch in order to understand, right? But that was so weird because I was basically just staring at his muscles! And I just felt very... invasive. I felt like I was ogling blatantly or something! Like... do I stare directly at them? Do I watch the weight? How often do I look back and forth? Or should I watch from the mirror's reflection? (What's wrong with my brain?!)

And when a friend of said fellow's showed up and for some reason decided to sit and chill for a while near where we were working out, I flubbed the forearm curl thing whatevers (I'm not going to pretend I know all the terminology)... yeah, I saw that smirk. (I see you! I know you're judging me! I know you're laughing!)

Then there were these insidious thoughts that cropped up, like "Oh, I bet these people are thinking, 'That girl is such a noob. That poor guy, trying to teach her how to lift–are those five-pound weights??!!"

(Yes, my consciousness works against me most of the time.)

Obviously, when working out with a higher-up, my awareness of my weakness increased tenfold. Like at one point, during the isolation curls (I don't know what it's actually called; please don't make me try harder than I have to), Mr. Workout Pro tried to make me go up a weight thing (also don't know what the proper terminology is), and ummm.

Yeah that didn't go well. I could not lift the stuff (I'm so articulate). It was sad.

But wait! Don't you run off thinking that I am ungrateful and self-pitying (I mean I am the latter, but whatever)!

There are great things that come with a personal trainer-type buddy. Now I know what that triangular seat thing is, and now I know where some of the weights are! I know where the towels are (yay) and in a sense, I, oddly enough, feel less stupid in some aspects when exercising. One noob makes a workout session a chore, essentially; two noobs make the escapade hilarious and mutually embarrassing so that the humiliation sort of gets cancelled out in the process (and turned into a joke); but one noob and one pro make for an informative and somewhat reassuring experience. It might seem paradoxical in context with my crippling insecurity showcased above, but it's overall a lot better to work out with a Workout Pro than alone.

Indeed it's embarrassing having someone witness the absolute degradation of my alarming weakness, but it's also pretty cool to work out side by side with someone who clearly knows what the heck he's doing.

The Woes of a "Workout Noob"

I am what one might call a "workout noob." Put me in a gym setting and my heart rate will take off, but not for the conventional reasons...

I'll get that burst of adrenaline from pure panic. Because I have no idea what to do when put in a workout environment.

Starting from last night, I had a sudden rush of inspiration to "get in shape." Oh, ha ha, naive little me, thinking that I can suddenly get pumped and know exactly what to do without any outside help. It's simple enough to do ab workouts from the comfort of one's dorm (not even with a proper mat, but on a slip-and-slide rug that was deemed "eh, good enough"), but a Rec Center with actual equipment and athletes?

Oh. My. Gosh.

I walked into the gym all chipper and ready to do my fancy little Blogilates arm workout, and then realized I didn't actually know where any of the equipment was. About 98% of the contraptions absolutely confounded me. I walked in a dazed, confused half-circle before deciding I needed a quick bathroom reprieve; I had panicked so hard that my bladder was in need of relief.

I almost left the gym.

Yeah, it took 15 minutes to walk there, and I nearly turned right back around to waste a total half hour of my day. That's how confused I was.

But nope, I had to come away with something (jiggly arms BEGONE!). So, I marched back into that cardio/weight room and focused my vision with all the strength I could muster, and eventually zeroed in on the dumbbells! I never thought I'd be so happy to see those stupid weights...

I worked out for 20 minutes. Wow. Go me. And it was so awkward. I wasn't sure where exactly I was supposed to stand, so I just faced the window with my iPhone on the window seat thing, Blogilates video playing. I imagine I looked very much like a workout noob indeed.

Good thing I didn't recognize anyone.

And I felt like when I left, all the people who were there when I first arrived were still in full workout mode. What's wrong with them?! How do people get so fit in the first place?? Where do they find the strength and willpower??

Oh man. Walking back, my arms felt weird. I had my water bottle and keys firmly tucked under my left arm, and so my right arm was awkwardly unoccupied. It was like, bouncing against my side with each step I took. At one point, I looked at my shadow and saw this weird... orangutan arm motion going on.

It was sad. I felt like a wiggly waggly inflatable man.

Oh well. At least I have super cute sports bras! (Spoken like a true workout noob, am I right?)

Unloading Part 4 (aka Here Comes the Barrage of First World Problems)

• Sometimes I'm casually cupping my chin, pen in hand, looking all attentive in class, when I decide I want to shift positions. And then the pen gets caught in my hair. And it makes a long journey to the end of that strand of hair. So I'm essentially brushing a lock of hair with my pen. In class. 
• Passive-aggressive bathroom behavior is all the rage here in the realm of communal restrooms. For example, I might need to go to the bathroom in a... special way, and coincidentally there's a girl brushing her teeth. So I'll brush my teeth too and try to out-brush her, in an attempt to get her to leave so I can do my business in peace. 
• Houston weather is bizarre. It will change over the span of twenty minutes, from heavy sheets of rain to stifling sunny heat. Everyone pretty much always has to have an umbrella on him/her. What an inconvenience. 
• As a Spotify newbie, I am very confused. I don't really get how the queue thing works, and how many times is one allowed to skip songs? After a while I can't skip anymore, and it's frustrating! And is there any way to just note which artists I want to listen to in the future without adding their whole track listing to the 'queue' thing?! 
• I love sleep. A LOT. Yet, I sleep ridiculously late for no reason in particular, and so I wake up like fifteen minutes before my first morning class begins. That means no time to properly do makeup, and no time to sit down and actually eat breakfast. Basically, I eat a bagel every morning. It's quite sad. 
• If one is without a car (and don't feel like mooching off of someone with a car), one must wait till Saturday every week to make a trip to Target for snacklets... and other things (although what else do you need besides food, really?). 
• Finally... there is a plethora of potentially brilliant classes one could take, yet there is simply not enough time. Even if somehow it's possible to wedge in the maximum number of hours, it may come at a high cost (of sanity). Ah, life is hard. 

What. The. Hell. (otherwise known as Unloading Part 3)

I thought second semester was supposed to be relaxing.

WTF IS GOING ON?!!!?? There are probably like four people (not including myself) who want to kill me right now for shirking my responsibilities, and urrghgh I just want to relax and be lazy and have time to hang out with my (not many) friends!! But UPHHH I think I bit off more than I can chew. And this isn't even like... a lot... I'm just. Hmph. I think maybe it's the stupid research paper we have to write for AP Lit that's bringing on this wave of "ARGHHHH" and "IFJEWIPAFJPAWJEFPWNOOOOOOO". I don't know what's happening. What the heck.

Okay. It's okay. Just think positive. THINK POSITIVE (forceful! demanding! that works!). MUST. THINK. POSITIVE. Here it is. Okay. There's basically only one and a half weeks left of Mock Trial (don't get me wrong–I love it, but I've really been struggling to balance it with the other stuff going on). I've got all of the Rachmaninoff music memorized for Winter Percussion. Good good. NOO but I still have Bach and half of Beethoven (actually more like 7/8 now that I think about it) to memorize for my other piano stuff!! And I probably need to go back and re-memorize Prokofiev and the Chopin etude... I er... no... there are no positives for History Bowl seeing as I've studied probably a total of one hour collectively (from the beginning of... last school year...). I need to get my Calc grade up because I slacked off way too much first week (more like was gone the whole first week because of the freaking stomach flu which I totally embraced). And there's still the the Lit Mag formatting to finish. My goodness. What.

ALL THE NEGATIVES ARE HERE!
Two Mock Trial competitions this week?! On weekdays?? Why does that even happen?! Who made those rules?? Why do they not pity the poor students??

Orchestra and winter perc festivals one after the other?? WHY?? Why do they do that?

Okay pity party is over... (not) Time to do.. work. Aka just go to bed. Sleep solves stuff. It's like in "Weary Blues" when Hughes is like yeah sleep is that time when the weary blues cease and peace arrives for those few stolen moments.. sigh.

The Cruel, Cruel Life

*Warning: First world problems ahead

So this month, I got really excited because I joined all sorts of new activities–I'm Pretrial Attorney for our school's Mock Trial, I joined History Bowl (one of the top ten teams in the nation), and I was recruited to help edit the school's literary magazine. The cherry on top (please pardon the cliche phrase), however, was finding out that this year's spring musical would be Les Miserables, the greatest, in my opinion, musical of all time. I was ecstatic. I was literally on cloud #9 for the rest of the week and was still euphoric the following two weeks.

Today, I was crushed. Today, my dreams were shattered. Today, I discovered that History Bowl Nationals conflicts with every single spring musical performance date. And now I'm really sad.

(I'm overreacting, but I WAS SO PUMPED. Of course I'm not as good as the drama department people, but I have a decent voice and decent acting chops and I thought maybe I had a slight chance of getting a good role because I love this musical sosososososososo much!!!)