(Ok, it's not really mine... sure, I paid for it, but I bought it for my kids, and when I say I bought it for my kids, that means that I wanted it, and since Xmas is fast approaching, the kids were a perfect excuse for me to blow $300 on a video game system on my Best Buy card and get out of mugging several little old ladies to buy toys for them**). In addition, I also purchased, for my children of course, EA Active. It's basically an interactive workout game (cause, you know, I don't want my kids to be lazy fatties).I was all psyched to try this out last night when I got home from work (after being up since 5:30 am and going grocery shopping after work). So I open the plastic wrap on the box, pry off the tape keeping the box closed (because, apparently, the plastic wrapping wasn't enough to keep the box closed), then remove the various twist ties, cardboard separators and the remove the further layer of plastic wrap and tape from the game case in addition to putting batteries (which were wrapped in plastic) in the heart rate monitor (which now seems like a very appropriate and necessary accessory). You'd think by now I'd be thoroughly pissed, but I knew these one-time obstacles would be absolutely worth it, considering the soreness of my arms from playing the Kinect Sports boxing game at my brother's on Thanksgiving. I was about to become a fit, sexy fucking superhero... Maybe I will enter a female bodybuilding competition (or just actaully be able to wear a bikini).
I finally got everything unwrapped, connected, put together and working. In my sweats, sports bra and headband, I was ready to kick some ass. Figuring that, since I can do 30 minutes on a moderate resistance on the elliptical and 90 minutes of intermediate Pilates, this would be a breeze, so I put it on intermediate. Piece of fucking cake, let's go! After my warm up and some adjusting of the Kinect sensor, I was still very optimistic about how easy this was going to be (I didn't even let the fact that it gave my in game avatar a gigantic ass, despite the fact that I chose "average" for body shape, get me down). Once the actual exercising started, I realized that my "personal trainer" was actually a sadistic dominatrix. She smiled and gave encouraging phrases such as "you can do it! Just follow my moves!" as she did things that I figured were only possible if you were a professional contortionist with a body made of 20% silly putty. She had no regard for the fact that I couldn't breathe and felt like my legs were going to collapse beneath me.
You seriously underestimate the difficulty of jumping from a squat until someone makes you do it 45 times in your own living room. The 20/28 exercises remaining seemed daunting and impossible by this point and I was wondering who would call an ambulance if I had a heart attack right there? I made sure my cell phone was close by, but I have never had a heart attack and I don't know if it's possible to actually operate a phone while having one or if I would just fall over dead at the indirect hands of Bill Gates. By the second round of "mountain biking", which was a series of squatting, jumping and running in place, all I could think of was how much I wanted the brand new bottle of organic vodka sitting on the kitchen counter, then I remembered that vodka (and other types of alcohol) probably take at least 80% of the blame for why I can't do simple things like jumping without feeling like Michael Moore is sitting on top of me, starving me of oxygen and will to live.
That being said, I felt like I should probably finish the workout before devouring half of that bottle so that I could at least avoid turning into Rosie O'Donnell (even though I am pretty sure she has a fairly hot girlfriend, although I could be mistaken about that - I figured maybe her girlfriend is into bigger women because they are more manly which would never work for me because I am the very essence of feminine beauty and that wouldn't change, even +300 lbs). Honestly, I think these games should totally go Drill Sergeant on you. I think phrases such as:
"Move your ass, fatty!"
"My 80 year old grandmother can run faster than you!"
"Just pretend like there are twinkies at the finish line, lard-ass!"
"You are going to die a 1200 lbs disgusting blob festering in your own bodily fluids and chicken bones on a mattress in the basement and they are going to have to knock walls out of your house to get you out and your family will be bankrupted having to purchase 3 burial plots and a super-sized coffin, you loathsome piece of elephant shit!"
This would motivate me to engage in this torture. Since no one has yet capitalized on the boot-camp workout game, I will have to continue bribing myself with vodka.
I actually did get through the entire work out (celebrated with several vodka-and-a-splash-of drinks and hot bath). The result? Well, let's put it this way, my coworker came to get me for a break today and I had a bit of difficulty getting out of my chair and walking with her... I asked her to guess what I bought and she said, "a new vibrator?". Don't I wish that was the the reason I am walking around like a robotic turkey.
** Which, judging by how much I suck at simple jumping, I probably couldn't even do anyway and then my kids would be stuck with dollar store army men and cardboard liquor boxes for Xmas.
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