No Piles for this Princess

Yesterday was the second Tuesday in a row that it decided to rain all afternoon. Not normally an issue of course, except I was supposed to have my third pre-season workout for the NYC Half-Marathon in Central Park. Where is the incentive to run outdoors when it's pissing down?!

Of course I talked it over with Flock and Flower, my two running companions from work, and we agreed to bail. It didn't take us very long to come to that decision. Then ten minutes before we were supposed to walk out the door, Flock decided we were going. So I caved. I called Flower's office but she was already long gone. Sensible woman, that one. So Flock and I changed into gym gear and trudged along to Central Park for our 6.45pm workout.

The rain had stopped but there was this annoying misty spit falling from the sky, which is probably more irritating than rain when you think about it. We exercised in the open air - skipping, hopping, jumping-jacking (aka star-jumping, for those of you playing at home on the other side of the world). Then we had to jog up and back along the walkway. I didn't die, but I was glad when it was over. I have no stamina for this running gimmick yet. Then we did a couple of ballet leg lifts and some bicep something-somethings, and as the heavens threatened to open we sought refuge back under the Bethesda Terrace bridge.

For whatever reason I decided to get indignant at this point. Physically I felt fine - the workout up till now had been fine and my body was feeling warmed up and ready. But when the trainer asked us to lay down on the cold, wet floor under the bridge, I just wasn't having it. High school flashed into mind, and Sister Maryanne's frequent warning against sitting on concrete floors ("you'll get piles, girls!"). I don't want piles. Who does?! So I stubbornly refused to do the floor-based exercises.

My protest would probably have been more effective had I not been the only one participating in it. I looked around and I was literally the only princess in the group. One of the happy-clapper trainers came over and asked me if I was doing okay. She probably thought I was injured or something. I just said to her that I wasn't prepared to lie on the floor tonight (subtext: or any night, lady!). Harrumph. The lady just smiled that giant grin of the righteous and chirped, "okay!!". I could almost hear both of those exclamation points in her voice. ARGH. I begrudgingly joined the group towards the end and did one plank for the sake of Pilates (plus I find them relatively easy for some reason), then we did some cool down stretches, and the workout was all over for another night.

Yes I know that I was being a princess last night and I achieved nothing by boycotting the abdominal exercises. But this has been my only act of rebellion so far in this whole half-marathon enterprise, so I'm not dwelling on it too much. Somewhere out there, Sister Maryanne is quietly proud of me.