WORK HARDER, NOT SMARTER

There has been an emphasis in the workplace to work smarter, not harder.  Streamline tasks, delegate, ask for help, collaborate - these are all ideas to get a job done without killing one's self.  There is nothing wrong with this idea.  Indeed, stressing over a job affects one's job performance and is harmful to one's health.  However, there is an area of life where working harder is definitely important.  That area is the gym.

In my former life (read between the lines:  before Girl8.5), I was a gym rat.  I went to the gym at least 5 times a week.  I met my workout partner at 5 a.m. and we lifted weights.  The gym is a different scene at 5 a.m.  There are no girls with spray tans, perfectly coiffed hair, tight pants and halter tops.  There are no fellows with just the right amount of sweat on their brows, spray tans and tight pants.  There may be some in halter tops.  If you venture in at o'dark thirty, you will see a bunch of ordinary people with bed-head, flannel shirts over rumply t-shirts, and baggy sweats.  There is no flirty chit-chat, just grunts of "mornin'" as people pass by.  Morning people are a different breed of cat.  It is all about getting the job done - put in your hour and get out.  It was the best feeling in the world to walk out of the gym at 6 o'clock and know that "exercise" could be checked off of the To Do List for the day.

Since Girl8.5 appeared on the scene, I have been unable to be a gym rat.  I have opted for other options, such as brisk walking in the forest, doing a home-made circuit with weights and a yoga ball, and belly dance class.  I have had the most success with the Wii.  Like all things, I got away from it for a while, but I am trying to embrace it once again.  I have been recently playing around with the yoga and the strength training options.  

The other day, I was searching for an exercise that was not going to tax me to the limit.  I was not thinking of my work harder, not smarter motto in the workout department.  I saw a picture of a lady sitting down, and it was called "Vertical Arm Stand", and of course I was all over it.  The lady was sitting down!  This was definitely for me.

Unfortunately, the name "Vertical Arm Stand" and the accompanying picture were rather misleading.  Instead of sitting in a chair with my arm in the air and burning a million calories with a smile on my face, I stood with my arm pointing straight up to the sky.  When the trainer gave the command (whistle, word, bell - I can't even remember because I am so scarred from what happened next), I had to lie down on the floor as fast as I could, my arm still directed straight up through all of my contortions.  As soon as I was prone on the floor, I had to get right back up again, all the while with my arm standing up like a flagpole, with the Wii remote clutched in my hand like the flag.  The idea was to make this struggling down and lurching up motion as smooth and fluid as possible.  Reader, I caution you not to smirk too soon - first you have to try this!  One repetition is not adequate to pass judgment, you have to do it six times with your right arm straight up in the air, and then six times with your left arm straight up in the air.  After all of the blood has drained out of your arms, you will feel exhilarated. The next day, you will ache all over.  Even your fat will hurt.  Isn't that the goal of all of your workouts - to make your fat hurt?  It is certainly one of the results of working harder, not smarter.

NOW, THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT!

Attentive Reader, I know that you think that my opinions have been distorted by watching grade school sports for the past five years.  Nevertheless, I am sticking my neck out and saying that tonight I attended The Most Entertaining Basketball Game ever.  I should qualify that by reminding you that although I played basketball for only a year as a teenager (my coach ate maple bars while sitting on a folding chair, I could only take so much), I have taught at a high school since the previous millennium, and both my brother and sister played hoops for years.  I am not a newcomer to the hippodrome.

Tonight's game was a great battle on the court, but the real diversion was in the audience, beginning with the fellow on the top row who brought his own steel drum set.  I had not realized he was there until a time out, when he began to tap out his tattoo on the four drums.  It was not until the next time out, when he played the same pulse, that it became apparent that he only knew one rhythm.  As I write this, that same pattern is tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tapping through my brain.

About the third time that the Drummer Boy expressed his enthusiasm for the game, a girl in the section below me stood up, faced him, circled her fist in the air and shouted, "One More!  Uh-huh!?"  The Drummer Boy obliged her demand with his cadence.  She pumped her fist in the air several times, smiled to herself, nodded sharply, and then directed her attention to the court.

It was hard not to stare at her, as she was wearing a black tank top, which exposed her tattooed arms, as well as a lot of other information.  She was blessed with what we call in the vernacular, a lot of "junk in the trunk", and this was covered with some rather snug yoga pants, which also left little to the imagination.  In her hand she gripped a paper cup filled with, what Girl8.5 later informed me, was root beer.

At first it was difficult to determine for which team she was cheering, but since she was under my close surveillance, I discerned that she was rooting for the home team.  The point guard seemed to be receiving the majority of her encouragement, which included shouts of, "D up on him!",  "That's it!", and, "Yeah, baby!"  Each shout was accompanied by jumping up and down in the bleachers, waving arms in the air, or arms straight out and up, as if accepting a gift from the gods.  When the other team was shooting a free throw, several times she burst out with, "We win!  Period!" and punctuated that declaration with more sharp nods.

Although watching the Cheerleader was the best entertainment I had had for a long time, even more fun was watching the little boy who was sitting with his mother in front of the Cheerleader, and a little to the left.  After a particularly vociferous outburst, the little boy slowly turned around to look at the Cheerleader.  His big, round eyes stared at her as if she were from another planet.  Then he looked back even further and his eyes met mine.  We stared at each other for a moment of understanding, and then we both returned our scrutiny to the Cheerleader.

From then on, the game did not hold my attention nearly as much as the people in the crowd in front of me.  It was tough to decide who was more fun to watch, the Cheerleader or Boy (in) Wonder.  Add in to the mix the Drummer Boy, who sounded like a woodpecker behind us, and it was a wild time in the stands.  At one exciting point in the game, the Cheerleader stood up to shout.  Boy Wonder's head tipped back to get the full view of what the Cheerleader was up to.  When she sat down, his little head followed her down.  His head was like a bobble head as she stood up and down, and she was oblivious to the small boy gaping in front of her.  Every once in a while, Boy Wonder would turn back to me, and we would exchange our knowing looks.

You are wondering what could possibly happen to top all of that excitement.  Not much, let me tell you.  However, there was some incredible static going on with Girl8.5's hair, and as she sat forward on her seat (for those watching the game, it was a nail-biter), her waist-long hair reached straight out behind her to the plastic seat back.  When I noticed it, I absent-mindedly swiped it down her back.  As soon as my hand was done with the swipe, her hair was back to sticking straight out behind her.  She turned her head to see what it was I wanted, and her hair spread its tentacles all over my mom and her jacket.  It had a mind of its own.

At about that time, the Cheerleader stood up and faced Drummer Boy in the back corner.  She held her index finger in the air and her voice cut through the crowd effortlessly.  "One time?!"  Drummer Boy performed the request. The Cheerleader smiled and nodded quickly.  Boy Wonder glanced at me.  I smiled him.  I looked at Girl8.5 and her hair, which was still parallel to the floor.  I smiled to myself.  I love basketball!