fitness

From my vantage point….

| cheriarmour

So I teach group fitness.  Which I’m sure you know if you’ve been around for a while cause I’m a dork and I love it.

I love it.  I knew from the moment I stepped into Koh Herlong’s Zumba class that I would love it.  My eyes would well up at a particularly beautiful song when I started like in 2003.  And that carried into teaching.  I’m obsessed.  When I hear a good salsa, I’ll Shazam it.   I love to salsa out on Thursday nights.  And I take every rare opportunity to choreograph something cool for my students.

The first thing people usually say to me when I offer them an invite to class? “Oh my word, I’m so embarrassed, I can’t dance worth a lick!”

Hohkay, calm down.  If I cared, or anyone else did for that matter how you danced, I’da quit long ago.

I will always maintain that we, as fitness instructors, we don’t make fun of our students.  Ever.  We just don’t.  Even if a student does something hysterical, I would jump off a cliff if I was giggling so hard that they thought I was making fun of them and then they never came back to class.  That said, there’s like a distinct 4 people who come to every class.

  1. The person who hides out in the back row, and thinks I can’t see them in the mirror.  I can see you I can see you.  Also, I walk around A LOT so I see you.  Even when you giggled when I dropped it low.  I saw that.
  2. The person who stands at the window and stares in.  Come in!  (Or leave, cause you makin me nervous.)
  3. The guy whose wife forced him to come.  I’m sorry.  As a bonus you get to stare at a lot of butts. If that’s what you’re into.
  4. The woman who’s bound to become an instructor herself.  This chick usually brings me to tears.  This girl comes every single week.  She knows your routines.  She picks up quickly on new ones.  She comes with a friend.  She comes by herself.  And when she catches your eye, you accidentally burst into tears, cause you know that was you a few years ago.  I’ve heard.
  5. The overachiever.   I love this girl.  She usually has a sexual outfit to wear.  She coordinates.  Does she know what’s going on in class?  Nope.  And she doesn’t really care.   She stand there, on the front row, and she don’t care who sees.  She loves to dance/step/lift weights/whatever, and what the teacher is doing doesn’t concern her. Because she’s dancing to the music of her mind.  Go head, do your thang.

So do we notice this stuff?  Yes, absolutely.  Are we going to make fun of you and tell you not to come back?  Absolutely not.  Look for whatever class speaks to you, and before you know it, you’ll be a total workout out fiend – whatever your workout of choice may be.

I teach Zumba on the side – Blind Item.

| cheriarmour

And truth be told, had I never started teaching Zumba, I’d certainly not be as sexy as I am today.

Okay, I kid, I kid, but Zumba, coupled with my stint at a teacher at a weight-loss camp super ignited my passion for fitness.  And I’ve been teaching since then (by then, I mean, like early 2010).

So anyhoo, I teach at this place.  And I don’t want to say the name of the place, because I’d like to remain gainfully employed.  And the place is beautiful.  Beautifully maintained facilities, great staff, and generally, a wonderful place to work.

Recently, at this place, I’ve run into some trouble, screwed the pooch, if you will.

I think I’ve been labeled as the gym’s troublemaker, because recently, every single time I teach, I get a filthy look from the attendants, and usually, once a class, one of them storms into the room, wildly making the “TURN IT DOWN” motion with his fingers.  It’s gotten to the point that usually, I’ll spy one of them coming, my heart rate will increase, I will dissolve into a nervous giggle (in front of the class,) until I’m told to turn it down.

I’m a Pavlovian Experiment, now every time I see the attendants in their uniforms, I begin to giggle, and I’ve started playing this game called “How Long Til I Get Yelled At Today?”

I’m a rebel y’all.  This fitness game is so real.

Salsa + miles

| cheriarmour

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Trying to strike the balance between teaching, and still getting those miles in without hurting myself, and still managing to give my students my absolute best. I’ll figure it out, right?

Newly-engaged and irritated!

| cheriarmour

Kate. Bettah. WARKK!

Just had a baby and looking so fly! And if you think for a second I didn’t delay my post-run shower today to watch her emerge, flawless from the hospital, you haven’t been reading very long.

Kate

I have been having so much fun with this engagement.

Despite the fact that I have had my nails unpainted for a total of like 4 days since last November, I have put a little extra sauce into my nails since everyone wants to see my nails (or ring) now.

I love my fiance.  I love my jewelry.  I love the feeling of having a wedding to plan.  I love it when people refer to me as “The Future Mrs. Samples” (despite the fact that I’m keeping my last name.)  I cannot wait.

But there are a few things, as a almost-married lady, that irritate me.  Here they go.

  • Asking “are you happy now that you’re engaged?!”  Uh yes.  Absolutely duh.  My best friend in the whole world just asked me if he could spend the rest of his life with me.  Of course I’m happy.  If I was unhappy, you’d be concerned, right?
  • “He’s white!” Yes darling, my husband is white.  Wouldn’t it be odd if I prefaced our story with “Yea, he’s super-white.” Get your 2013 on folks, you love who you love!
  • “So, do you have a date yet?” Honies, I literally got engaged 2 weeks ago.  Can I enjoy it before I nail down a date?
  • “What are you wearing?” you payin’? Then wait for the Facebook album like everyone else?

So if yous have friends who are recently engaged, remember not to ask them annoying questions.  Love! Mwah!

(Also, ready for a combo running/lifestyle/health/wedding prep blog?  Me too :))

Return to Fat Camp

| cheriarmour

I blog to you from the (dis)comfort of my iPhone. I wish I could whip out the ol’ laptop, but I’m at camp, and using the laptop is a little tricky. So let’s go over my return to fat camp.

So fun fact, as a fitness instructor, we’re actually tested on what we know, in order to keep you guys, our participants, safe in our class. So every cheesy, annoying step-touch, every step and pull, and every cat stretch that reminds you of the 80s is necessary. So Saturday, I renewed my AFAA Group Exercise certification, which meant a lot of review, plus a test at the end. Gross. But I got it done, then hit the road to camp.

First stop. I got pulled over for “incorrectly wearing my seatbelt” (I wasn’t, I’m just thin.) Truthfully I think the cop got bored because he pulled me over for like two seconds, then let me go. Thanks sir.

But first stop?

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Lake Anna in VA to sleep and visit family.

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So I continued my trek, and met this lady at the rest stop in Delaware.

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Fun fact. I drink so much water, I have to stop at least every three hours. Preferably, at a Starbucks. Also, that’s a Teacup Yorkie. Where can I adopt one? I’m obsessed with her!

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And finally, I rolled into Camp Pocono Trails this morning. It’s just as beautiful as I left it. The campers were so excited to see me, and literally poured sweat for 3 hours with me at the helm. I’m sweaty, and a little exhausted, but I’m here, and I can’t wait to work them out this week.

I was such a slob kabob today.

| cheriarmour

I wasn’t feeling great. And I didn’t make it any better by watching hours and hours of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians,”and drawing the blinds. Watching a show on a day where you feel less than stellar about yourself featuring a family of insanely gorgeous Armenian bombshells does nothing for your self-esteem. As I lay there watching Bruce Jenner (who may be one of my favorites in that family) contemplate doing a little something-something to his face to fix the damage a doctor had done in the 80s, I began to fantasize about the work I’d do, should a plastic surgeon magically appear, free of charge, in my living room. I dreamt my breasts were lifted and reduced, and that I’d magically begin frolicking on beaches in teeny fringed bikinis, similar to Rihanna, and that my new boobs might just stay in place without any worry about them flopping out of the suit. My mind wandered further. How long would this imaginary surgery keep me away from the gym? Would I gain weight as I recovered from this imaginary surgery? This surgery was compounding my imaginary life.

I’m aware that this line of thinking is insane. And 93% of the time, I’m normal . I’m super intelligent, and I’m an ugly girl at all. I place a premium on treating people well, which is the number one factor that contributes to beauty. But evvvvery once in a while, that sneaky little rude thought weasels in. So I wanted to see, and sort of make sure, that I’m not alone in this irrational line of thinking. So I posed this question to a lot of you a few evenings ago, and I was shocked to see a lot of you had the same weird hang-ups about your body as I do. Comments poured in. A lot of you hate your stomachs. Your legs. Your feet. Your thighs. And the most insane thing? The majority of these comments came from smart, beautiful, and last but not least, healthy girls. Girls who were not only beautiful on the outside, but girls that I know for a fact had accomplished and lived through incredible feats. Girls who work for non-profits. Girls who successfully manage a hectic work schedule. Girls who’d picked up and moved across the country with no fear, and no family.

All this is to say, I think it’s okay to have those days when you doubt something about yourself, even if it’s physical. But those perceived flaws are likely only a flaw to you. If you keep on being an awesome girl with a sick personality, those little things, only perceptible to you kind of become non-existent. Cause who really cares that you have big boobs when you right a sick blog, right? 😉

So I tried this new thing yesterday…

| cheriarmour

So I have my new car, and since I’m saddled with a teeny car payment (it’s big for me!), I’ve been budgeting a looot more tightly.  Brown-bagging the lunch, seeking out more free/less expensive group x options, and running (which is free) a ton!  Which I must say, it’s kind of a nice feeling to actually have a sense of awareness about where my money is going.  But I digress.

I live about 2-3 miles from my job.  And I’ve started to become a little tired of watching my gas dwindle away from these little back and forth trips I’m making to my job.  It’s unnecessary.  And I’m not helping the earth.  So while I save up a little cash for a bike (and lord help, this means I’m going to need to learn to put a helmet over my huge hair), I decided to try running to work.  Get a little exercise in, run to work, and run home.  So how’d it go.

So Raleigh is hilly.  I had to plan a route that was a little more roundabout in order to avoid a gnarly hill.  It was pretty unavoidable. 3/4ths of the way in and I was cursing my decision, and running about 6 minutes late for work.  Dang.  I should’ve left a little earlier.

I’m going to challenge myself to run to work a few more times, see how much gas I can save, and build a few more miles into my day.

Challenges with this plan.

  • Packing.  I had to stow my keys, $5, and a few chews for my low blood sugar in a belt.  On days when I need a little more, this may become challenging.
  • Time.  I didn’t build enough time.  But for incidentals, I need to block off at least 30 minutes for me to get to work with enough time.
  • Clothing.  I need to waterproof some makeup or something.  I looked heinous at work yesterday.  I could feel judgment piercing me from people’s eyes.  I felt the need to caveat each time someone looked at me with “It’s not my fault, I ran to work today”.
  • Stench.  Oh my god.  Like.  I cannot with the way I was smelling yesterday.  To be fair to myself, the funk was two-pronged.  I’d taught a Zumba class earlier, so the Zumba sweat, layered with the budget sweat, added to me smelling like a horse.  I smelled like a horse.  I really sincerely apologize to all my co-workers, and I commend them for not making any comments to me.  Any comments would have been deserved though.  I need to figure out a way to leave some wet ones, some baby wipes, and some touch-up makeup at work.
Before...you don't want to see the after...
Before…you don’t want to see the after…

So I challenge you, if you can do this safely at any point this week, to build a few extra miles into your week by running to work.  Oh, and Happy Memorial Day, guys!  Werk!

If yous would try and remember how this blog started…

| cheriarmour

If you’ll remember, back in December, I launched the blog back in December as an effort to drum up attention for the money I was raising for Haiti.  Hence, the title.  Since, I’ve meant to retitle the blog, but I haven’t gotten around to it.  And I’m not that creative.  I want to come up with a funky title, like “I run this ish” (GET IT!!!?) or something, but it just hasn’t come yet.

Anyhoo, I met with the cool folks from Hope for Haiti last night over a beer, and I have to remember to keep my eye on the prize!  They want to send me on a trip (to Haiti obvi) to document what we’re doing down there.  Like take my clearly stellar skills at blogging and photography and document what work we’ve accomplished.  That makes me SO happy!  Bahhh!

I think fitsperation is horrifying.

| cheriarmour

So, part of the reason I started this blog is that I saw some hideous “fitspo,” as they call it, on like Pinterest or something.  I don’t remember what exactly it was that the fitspo stated, but it was probably a picture of some white woman’s sweaty abs, with a tagline over it like “work out all the time, never eat, and lift weights constantly. only a wiener wouldn’t listen to abs like these.” (Also, note the lack of capitalization.  I’m pretty sure that was a thing too.)

So I wanted a blog that you could come to to feel inspired, without me giving you ridiculous advice (like don’t eat), or posting insane pictures on my blog.  And if you refuse to feel inspired or whatever, I’d hope that you could at least laugh and stuff.   And please don’t be offended if you love fitspo, but recognize that everybody, and every body is different.  That said, I will say that I have a person who give me body inspiration.  Not envy, but she makes me go, “Yeah, what a bod!”  And it’s not like, “ohhh I wish I had her body blah blah.”  It’s like.  She’s a real person.  Who very obviously works hard.  Works out hard.  And whose body serves as a testament to the fact that working out, maintaining a healthy diet (P!nk’s been interviewed as saying that she switches with an on-again, off-again vegan diet), and not following tradition, you can look AMAZING.  P!nk doesn’t look like the typical little skinny-mini, and most of us don’t.  However, she is baller.  So….I won’t ask you who’s your fitsperation, because I hate that stuff.  But who (we’re talking real people here) makes you say, “yeah!”?

p!nk