Eight days ago I decided to start Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred, mostly because I want to build up the muscles necessary to take out the teenagers at the gym who sit on the machines and text War and Peace-length messages to their friends instead of oh, I don’t know, WORKING OUT. It seriously takes these morons half an hour to do 10 hamstring curls. Usually the culprits are 15-year-old twigs who probably haven’t even heard of cellulite yet, which gets me REALLY riled up because if I looked like they do I would spend my evenings running naked through the streets with a bullhorn shouting, “Everybody look at my ass!” and not at the gym trying to work off the solitary percentage point of body fat separating myself from a fossil.
I know I could probably just ask the twigs to move, but it’s more satisfying to pace back and forth behind the stack of floor mats in the poorly lit corner like a creepy gym spinster and ragefully calculate how many minutes the local youth are stealing from my evening routine of eating prunes and watching Golden Girls while massaging the bunions on my shriveled, 28-year-old feet. (Totally joking. Except for the Golden Girls.)
I was nervous to start day one of the shred, but it’s not as tough as I had feared. It is, however, the polar opposite of the Crunch cardio sculpt DVDs I had been doing, where the instructor allows you to rest periodically and acts like your friendly neighborhood Girl Scout Leader. Jillian, on the other hand, believes resting is for assholes and acts like the leader of your friendly neighborhood prison gang, minus the improvised shiv whittled from a government-issued toothbrush (I think – I haven’t gotten to level 2 yet). I feel like it should be too early to see any sort of results, but I was putting my hair up this morning and I swear my biceps look way bigger than they did when I started just over a week ago. (Also: I was late to work due to an ensuing Schwarzenegger pose-fest in front of the bathroom mirror.)
I of course wasn’t together enough to take any “before” photos prior to starting level one, but I will remember to take some once I complete each of the levels. I intend to post them here, but I’ll be honest: The probability of whether I actually do it is a function of a) how much my body resembles that of William Shatner’s and b) how drunk I am at the time of posting.