Utter Shit

Once upon a time I was that girl that never went out without the hair done and makeup on.  Precipitation freaked me the fuck out since it meant frizzy hair.  I was what is commonly referred to as high maintenance.  I was unable to be one of those spontaneous girls – I needed prep time.  And no one, and I mean no one, would see me sweat.

And I will fully admit I am still high maintenance, just in so many different ways.

The new hair does not look good in the morning – all bed-head and crappy.  And without the ponytail, I am throwing a thin head band in it and saying fuck-it as I head out the door.  But usually we work out in the dark.

The rain this morning meant we set up our stuff right next to the school instead of on the basketball courts.  Which means we are in the light.  Bright light.  It was wet, but not raining when I arrived.  By the time we were done with the warm up jog, it was drizzling.  After a few moments under the overhang with our weights he decided we needed to do walking lunges.

Uphill.

“Before it starts to really rain”, he says.
And as we all came down into that first lunge – it began to really rain.  30 or so lunges later, dead legged and panting, we run.  In the rain.

At one point, running a little obstacle course that included a 30 yard sprint (uphill again! yay!) and then hurdles (sideways!) I was the last one (no surprise!) to reach a gate (our turn around point) that the janitor was about to unlock.  This janitor does not care for us.  She sees us as wealthy spoiled women with the luxury of working out at 5:30 am.  What she does not realize is if we were wealthy and spoiled we would be working out at 10 am with a hot personal trainer – not in the rain before the sun comes up.  We are all uber-polite to her, even though she chases us out of “her parking spot” in the lot.  I think we all, without discussion, want her to like us, or at least tolerate us, or commiserate with us.  Anyway, she does her best to ignore our existence for the hour that we are there.

But today, as I reached that gate, she looked at me with concern. “Your arms are pretty red”, she said, looking me in the eye as I grinned at her.  Not able to speak, I just shrugged and noticed they were red.  Typical of the fair, when the blood gets pumping, I turn pink.  Dark pink.

If the bod was pink, I am sure my face was purple.  The hair was half wet from the rain, and flipping out all over the place.  And I really did not care. Proof  I am at least a partially recovering high-maintenance bi-atch.