The Ball of Torture

Since I, apparently, have a strong aversion to utilizing my membership at the Crunch gym in the lobby of my building, I’ve taken to exercising in the solitude and privacy of my own apartment.

This past weekend, I bought one of those fitness balls on which one balances and performs various sorts of exercises. They always looked like fun, being scattered about the gym. It sort of made the place look like a day-care center. (pic below)

It came with a little bitty pump with which to inflate it. Each pump of the handle emanated about one cubic millimeter of air. It was an exhausting endeavor just to fill the darn thing up and I had to take a long rest afterward.

It also came with a DVD that displayed a couple of lithe, athletic people performing all sorts of balanced contortions with the ball.

I tried some of these exercises.

What they don’t tell you is that, apparently, one must have the balancing ability of The Flying Wallendas in order to use this stupid thing. I kept toppling off or it would go flying out from under me.

Finally, I managed to do some exercises on it.

Oh. My. God!!! I was so sore afterward. It was worse the next day. I’ve got muscles hurting on me that I never knew existed.

Then, I ate half a box of Girl Scout Cookies.

After all, one must have balance in life.