WACKY WEDNESDAYS...Where Anything Goes

Today's wacky topic:  "What the Hell?" Moments.

My life is a series of "what the hell?" Yes, I could say something else, but that's a word I write, not use...well rarely use. I admit, there may have been a time or two when I "short-circuited" and frick could have rhymed more with truck. I'm only human...for the most part.


Today, I decided to start exercising...again. This is a ritual I ceremoniously indulge in every two or three months, when I brave the bathroom scales. Mind you, this is after I have appropriately prepared myself by downing water pills, undergoing colonic cleansing treatments, and consuming no food for a period of three days. If I still have strength to step up the half inch incline, I remove all clothing, jewelry, and metal dental work, hold my breath and stand firmly on the jiggly platform. I feel like the wicked witch in Snow White, minus her clothes, standing before the magic mirror (obviously an "R-rated" version, if not a horror flick) .

Scales, scales, on the floor...

Could I be smaller than before?

The dial spins wildly like a roulette wheel until it finds the mystery number. Somewhere inside the techological wonder my imaginary tiny body rests upon, lives a mean and vicious troll. Laughter resonates through the thick callouses of my flattened feet.

Only a miracle can mask the truth,

Sorry to say, there's "more" of you.

So I removed the laundry hanging off my NordicTrac and lowered the rubber road to nowhere. I placed my Kindle on its perch, changing the size of text so I could read it, resulting in only three words per page. My earbuds rest tightly in the only small orifices on my body, my inner ears, and I crank my workout tunes, starting with Fireworks by Katy Perry. I set the speed at a brisk 2.0, feeling my heart pound against my ribs shortly thereafter. Thirty minutes is my goal. Five minutes into my "no sweat" workout, and I'm ready to get serious. I crank the incline to .5 (I know, risky) and edge the speed to 3.0 (beyond dangerous...for a toddler).

I start to run...large heavy thumps from my oh-so-not coordinated steps. (Reasons why I do not run outside where someone could see me. I run like a knock-kneed chicken.) My ponytail is swishing back and forth, my boobs coming dangerously close to blinding me, but I'm running! I can feel the weight melting off, my breaths somewhat forced, but no foam has formed in the corners of my mouth yet. Air blows out my nostrils sounding like a bull charging the streets of Barcelona. My heart pushes harder, the rate on the monitor increasing. I notice the minutes cranking by. Two minutes and I'm pushing a stroke! But I keep going. Then it happens. My "what the hell" moment. Pause the frame.


I get distracted easily. I don't have to actually see a shiny object to lose concentration, I just have to think about the possibility one might exist.


Confession time. I have tried many "how to lose a 100 lbs in 30 minutes" exercise gimmicks. All they do is make me hungry afterward. One of my most comical, and could probably win the $10,000 prize on America's Funniest Home Videos, is my short stint with the "kettle ball." Picture the squat, heels pressed to the floor, and me flinging a weight between my legs and up to my chin, several times. I've had four children, two as a "tag-team." Internal organs were re-arranged with each "blessed event." After about eight "squat -thrusts" (sorry, there just wasn't another way to say it), the "weightloss idea" behind the kettle ball routine becomes obvious, and my twenty-minute workout is cut short.


Another attempt at reshaping my body, or performing a miracle, whichever way you want to look at it, was my attempt at Yoga. I consider "sit-ups" a contortionist act, so Yoga, with all its wonderful stretches, twists and flamingo poses (which never worked for me sober) turned out to be a flop. But I still have the mat.

Fastforward again. My Yoga mat I keep rolled up and tucked between the wall and my NordicTrack platform. However, somehow, through another one of God's need-for-humor-at-Joelene's-expense moments, I forgot to move it, and kicked the mat loose. Without knowing. So I'm jogging my way to death, almost at the five minute mark, when the purple rubber "roll of death" breaks free from the front of my treadmill, and shoots between my feet...which are moving...sort of.


Now God loves me enough to give me a hint of warning before his joke is cast (some call it "common sense"). Because I feared I'd faint at any given moment, I had reached out and was holding the side rails just before the corrugated rubber headed my direction (it is coming lenthwise mind you, without unrolling, just like a large log). However, back to the "shiny object" lesson, the lanyard was not attached to me. I cannot stress the importance of following this simple rule - attach the lanyard to your body! Alas, I had not.

My feet twisted into the rubber mass, my arms snapped into unnatural angles, trying to hold onto my body attempting to wrench itself at the armpits, and my knees crossed somewhere behind me. All in a split second dance to Engrique's Iglesias's new tune Dirty Dancing. Somehow, I grabbed the dangling lifeline and pulled the lanyard off the machine. Why I thought the constant moving ground beneath me would just calmly, slowly ease to a stop is still a mystery. Everything came to an abrupt halt, except my feet, still trying to run a marathon and push my Yoga mat away. It shot off the end of the treadmill and slammed the nightstand. I became a suspended human pretzel.


Remember the game Twister you played at parties? That was me without the colored spots or the cute boy tangled up with me. Now mix that in with my earlier side story about the kettle ball, and there you have it. My "what the hell" moment.

Here's to always being able to laugh at yourself. Check back Saturday night when I'll blog about the ingredients needed for a story recipe, and share a favorite of my own for the Memorial Day barbeque. 

Joelene, or another version of "snap, crackle, pop!"