Just before I got to the squat station yesterday (yes, that's gym talk, and I think I speak for us all when I say that you can just never have too much lingo in your life) this skinny little teenage guy cut in front of me and started to do squats.

Fine.

This kid was the classic "before" shot from the old Charles Atlas ads I used to see in all those old Superman comics I grew up reading. I so wanted to kick sand in his face because of the rude way he'd cut in front of me.

I've only just recently worked myself up to the point where I can do squats with the 45 pound bar across my shoulders. That's just the plain bar, no weight rings added. This guy had a ten pound weight ring added to either side.

I think we can all see where this is going.

I am a reasonably well educated 51 year-old-woman who has read a lot about working out and paid trainers to teach me the proper way to do all this. The proper way is not just about form, about holding your body in the correct position, it's also about understanding your body's limitations and slowly increasing your demands upon it.

Despite the fact that I know all this, I was overcome with a rush of pure blinding competitiveness. As I watched him, My Inner Gorilla was busily beating its chest and making scary territorial noises. I decided that I could "take" this guy. He was lifting half again as much as I was, but I decided to throw another five pounds on each side and "show him a thing or two".

Remind me to check my vitamin bottle to see if "stupidity" is one of the ingredients listed on the label, 'kay?

So when he was done I smiled sweetly, added the weight, shouldered the bar, stepped back, aligned my feet properly, and went down into the squat. Down is the relatively easy part but from there you have to lift your body back up. This puts enormous demands on the buttal and thigh muscles.

To my amazement, I did the first five reps without much effort. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the kid was watching me. Rep six was when I realized I was starting to push my luck. I could feel sweat on my forehead. Rep seven and the sweat was running down my temples and I could feel a new line start down my back. Rep eight and not only were my eyes stinging from the salt of the sweat running into them, but my face was that charming shade of red usually associated with dead lobsters.

I pulled reps nine and ten out of somewhere, but my thigh muscles were like water when I set the bar back on the supports and I was light-headed from the effort. Normally I do at least three sets of ten reps of any exercise. I knew better than to try any more squats.

Fast forward to this morning.

Normally the words "burning" and "nether regions" are a sexy combo, but in this case it involves me mumbling "ow" every time I do anything which involves the buttal or thigh muscles. Since just about everything, even sitting, involves the buttal or thigh muscles, "ow" has become Today's Favourite Word.

Oh yes, I have felt some serious muscle pain in my day, but I doubt I will ever feel anything on this level ever again because hopefully I will never descend to this level of stupidity ever again.

A woman can dream, right?

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 12.12 miles - 19.5 kilometers
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers