Jack of All Trades, MASTER of None

There is the little place in your posterior that has a name that I don't know. But I can describe it:

It's where a male underwear model has a "scoop" out of his bottom that is oh-so-attractive to look at.

It's where I can feel the weight of the babies I carried, long after I'd delivered The Babe, because some stupid "band" connects there.

And it's the place where the StairMaster exacted its revenge.

Earlier this week, my workout buddy and I thought it would be a good idea to mix it up a little. We'd basically worn out the elliptical routine. So, we moved over to the treadmill.

That piece of machinery. Gads. It LOOKS simple. Has simple buttons. Asks simple questions on its little red-dotted screen.

I can get it to accept my age and weight* and push the "Forest Walk" button, which looks like it would kill even the most seasoned of off-trail runners, but I can't actually get the darn thing to TAKE ME ON THE FOREST WALK.

Once? Fluke. Twice? Idiot programmer. Namely, me.

By this past Monday, I was determined NOT to let the programming take me down a path I didn't want to go. So I suggested the StairMaster.

And now I know exactly where each of those steps go when they disappear into that tall casing. STRAIGHT TO HELL.

I swear on everything good and right that my posterior has never, ever, EVER hurt like this before. I feel like someone has taken a rubber band and popped the inside of my hiney about 1000 times seven. And then some.

It hurts to stand. It hurts to walk. It hurts to sit. Basically, being alive is a painful experience after meeting the StairMaster.

And the saddest part of this story? I only lasted ten measly minutes. I was huffing and puffing like I'd just crossed the finish line at the Chicago Marathon with a PR that beat the Africans by an hour.

With this much pain and oxygen-sucking, you'd think I'd been on there HOURS and HOURS. Which tells me that varying my routine, though painful and altogether the least fun I've had in years, it a very, very smart thing.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to suck it up and hoping the pain will ease so I can keep my Wednesday gym appointment with my friend. Who I simultaneously hope has sympathy pains and I hope doesn't.**

Mr. StairMaster? I now know why the word "master" is in your name. But, I'll be back. It may just take me a few days to get up the courage.

Once I can lift my leg far enough off the ground to get my workout shoes on without screaming obscenities and wincing in pain? IT'S ON!

*Without laughing!

**Neither of us is really crazy about over-exertion so if we are both in pain I have a feeling we'll be back on the flat, straight treadmill routine in the morning.