I got my period.

I really, really despise water retention, you know?

Yesterday, after my portuguese lessons and running some errands, I went to the gym like a good girl, and lifted weights for the entire top half of my body except the arms. I did the stairmaster, too, which I've always avoided because it seems to be a bit hard on the knees and I'm never really sure if I'm doing it right. I'm pretty much sick of the rower at this point, plus they only have two of the brand I like-- which everyone else likes, too-- so I gave it a shot. As it turned out, the instructions are all in English which makes life a bit easier, but there are so many different programs to choose from that it's all a bit bewildering. Also, it wants to know your weight which, as far as I'm concerned, is none of its damn business. Yes, I know they use it for calculating calories burned or some such, but that's a bunch of crap as well, no matter what formula it uses as there are just too many variables to take into account.

Anyhow, I survived without falling off or toppling over or looking any more silly than my fellow climbers. I amused myself by watching a gaggle of over-excited and probably under-sexed men checking out the bouncing breasts on the woman next to me in the mirror. Not subtle at all, boys.

I was back in the gym bright and early this morning. Well, early, in any case. I hopped back on the stairmaster, nudging the settings up a bit, and felt like I had a bit more of a workout. I didn't want to mess with it before until I was sure of getting the hang of it. No bouncing boobies this time, so I amused myself by watching an older man (late 40s? Early 50s?), who clearly grew up watching Sonny and Cher and Mark Spitz with all those medals, wanting to be just like them some day. He has mostly suceeded-- right down to the 'tache-- and was hitting on a much younger, attractive blonde. I bet he was wishing she'd hop on the stairmaster, even if only for a few minutes. I imagine that she was wishing he would hop on the stairmaster and let her work out in peace.

What I want to know is whatever happened to Nordic Tracks? I loved Nordic Tracks. I could stay on one of those babies for 45 minutes and never ever get bored, and that with nothing more than a Frank Zappa tape for company. ("Yellow snow, do do do Do do, yellow snow from where the huskies go...") The closest thing the gyms have these days has foot pedals that move in an oval and great big black moving levers you work with your arms. And I thought I was afraid of the stairclimber-- those suckers really do look like torture devices. Bet they're a big hit on the S&M scene, though.

Anyhoo, after that I hit the weights and worked out my legs and arms, then trotted off to what was billed as a "Body Balance and Stretching" class. They rate their excercise classes on strenuousness and accessibility, and this one scores low on the former and high on the latter. Sadly for me, somebody miscalculated.

I figured it would be similar to their yoga classes: gentle, relaxing, soothing. And it was quite similar to a yoga class-- specifically, the Kick Ass Vinyasa Yoga that I used to take in Milan. I loved that class, and I miss it, despite (or maybe because of) leaving every session with quivering muscles and a liberal covering of sweat. This wasn't quite as intense, but we did keep moving. It wasn't quite yoga, but it did feature quite a few yoga poses. The instructor wasn't big on description, which was OK since my portuguese is far from flawless and I knew the poses-- or some variation of them-- already. I got the impression that the rest of the class were all regulars, so maybe she used to explain more when they started. She did, however, manage to catch me when I tried to cheat a bit by not bringing my thigh parallel with the floor in the Warrior sequence because my muscles were quivering too much to hold it. Then again, they were quivering to start with because I'd managed to thrash them pretty well with the weights before the class even started. Of course, that's why I was thinking a nice bit of stretching would be a good thing. Ha!

I walked out of there covered in sweat, my hair plastered to my head and my shirt to my back. The rest of the class looked as fresh as daisies. Bastards. I did, however, keep up with no problem. I do a lot of the poses better as well, though I expect myself to since I've been practicing yoga in earnest for several years now. Yes, I know it's not a competitive thing, but when your hair is looking as hideous as mine was half way through, you grasp at anything that will make you feel less ridiculous.

That said, I enjoyed it and I'll be going back on Thursday morning. It's not real yoga, but it's a decent workout and enough to keep me motivated to work on my asanas properly at home.

What I will not be doing is lifting weights or doing cardio before class. I may even have to rethink my workout schedule because right now, I feel like shit. I hurt, and I hurt everywhere. You would not believe the pain I caused myself by shaking the mustard bottle while making a sandwich for lunch. I certainly didn't. And squeezing the mustard out was almost as bad. Feeding the cat was a challenge, too-- I thought I'd never get back up from leaning down to pick up the empty bowl, and once I'd filled it, I was sorely tempted to just leave it on the counter and let her eat it there. I'm sure she wouldn't have minded. It even hurts to type.

In summary, I overdid it, and now have an overwhelming urge to lie on the sofa and watch TV. Reading would be nice, but I'm not sure how long I'd be able to hold up the book.

Elvis, by the way, has not been to the gym since last Wednesday. That's OK, though, because tonight he has an appointment for a physical assessment and to work out with a personal trainer. He has one Thursday as well, which should give him a good program to get started with. This is very sensible and the proper way to go about it. Hopefully, he won't be ending up feeling like I do right about now.