girlfiend

One of the bad things about my new strapless dress workout is that it requires me to use a treadmill. I hate running. Before my knee surgery ten years ago my knee would lock when I’d run, causing me fall on my face. Now it doesn’t lock but any type of jogging or running is a gamble. Nonetheless, every few years I decide that I should take up running just to challenge myself. It works out well for a week or so, then my knee swells to the size of a cantaloupe and I stop running– until the next time I get the bright idea to train for a marathon.

This time it wasn’t my idea. Dreamboat, the hot trainer at the gym, suggested that adding a treadmill workout to my routine will help me achieve the Linda Hamilton body I’m striving to attain. Even at a fast paced walk I still suck at the treadmill. I don’t know why the treadmill affects me so much more than any of the other cardio machines at the gym, but I’m always seconds away from flying off. It happened to me once before. In college, I was at the gym trying to impress this hot environmental science major who was incredibly fit after years in the Marines. I was 25 minutes into my run on the treadmill, when out of nowhere I lost my footing and flew off. The gods were smiling upon me, and rather than fall facedown on the treadmill I was propelled directly into the wall behind me. Mortified, I used the stairmaster or ellipical machines from that day until now.

Aside from running, there are a few other things I’m not so good at. Drinking is one of them. I cannot drink and walk at the same time. Inevitably, I’ll drip whatever it is I’m drinking down my chin and onto my shirt. Riding in Jeeps is another challenge for me. Whenever I attempt to drink something in Boyfiend’s Jeep it ends up on my shirt or pants. Even when I sit still, drinking is a problem. My laptop is often in danger of taking an unexpected bath in a Margarita. Last night I managed to spill a glass of red wine all over the table and floor, and I wasn’t even drunk yet.

I’m also terrible with clothes. There’s no point in spending any more than $20 on a piece of clothing because I can’t help but ruin every article of clothing I love. As a child, any light colored article of clothing had at least one chocolate ice cream stain. As an adult, bleach speckles all of my good shirts and pants, and every sweater I love shrinks in the dryer. Any skirt purchased with a dry clean only label ends up pilling in the washing machine, and every one of my winter coats has pockets that open into the lining. My peacoat is like the bermuda triangle. It wouldn’t surprise me if a family of squirrels was living in there.

Gloves? Forget about it. I lose gloves minutes after buying them. Saturday I lost a mismatched pair of gloves- one cashmere lined green leather glove and one pair of $1.00 stretchy gloves worn on the same hand for warmth. To avoid losing yet another pair, I’ve decided not to wear gloves until the temperature dips back down into the twenties.

So there you have it. I’ve got drinking problem, a gimp knee, a closet full of stained and shrunken clothes and a collection of single gloves trapped in the abyss of the lining of my coat. I’m sure that my friends and family could add to my list, but I’m a much better speller than any of them. So there.