The obligatory mile run.
The awkward sit and attempt to reach your toes with that funky box measuring contraption.
The push-ups… oh those horrendous push-ups!
And of course the always distressing pull-ups.
As a reformed fat kid, I work ard to keep myself healthy and in shape. I eat well (overload on the antioxidants probably) and exercise regularly (my new favorite machine is the elliptical because I can work out AND read at the same time, which makes me feel fit AND smart!). And because of this, I’ve overcome the running, the stretching to touch my toes, and the push-ups. I can do those pretty easily. But that damn pull-up has been haunting me ever since fourth grade when I first climbed up to the bar and just hung there, like a lifeless monkey, unable to pull my own body weight up in front of the PE teacher and my classmates. Embarrassing much?
Until today, that is.
Call it a small victory, but it is a victory nonetheless. I did two pull-ups, with no assistance. And the funny thing was that I wasn’t expecting them. I was just stretching on the bar and on the off-chance that I could do it, I tried, and then pulled myself up. And then tried again and did it again.
Small victory. I left the gym smiling tonight.