The 100 Day Burpee Challenge

If you don't know what a burpee is look here and try not to be distracted by the very fit lady's fake boobs.

No, its not a soda drinking contest, no, they don't make me burp (but sometimes they make me do something else...), and yes, I know that a burpee doesn't technically include a push-up but for the sake of the challenge I'm doing the push-up.

At the beginning of the year I had a desire to get fit. This desire was shared by a friend of mine in OH. My friend was invited by his friend to do the challenge. My friend invited me.

The challenge is this: Starting February 8th with one burpee you add a burpee everyday for 100 days. Today, if you're curious is day 77. If you miss a day they have to be made up.

At first I had zero interest in doing this. I'm not competitive. For me fitness is more about your lifestyle and less about how many reps of an exercise you do. I'm not one of those slightly nutty people that need to run marathons just to see what there bodies can do. And I didn't want to commit to something I didn't really want to do.

And then I told a couple friends and roommates about it. They got excited. In theory its not that tough. If you can do one, you can do two. If you can do fifty-three, you can do fifty-four. I figured if I didn't have to do it alone and had friends to celebrate the mile markers (days 25, 50, 75) with it would be doable. Maybe even fun!

In practice though it gets a little tougher. Especially if you miss a day and have to double up on them. I'll save you the suspense and tell you that nobody made it with me past day 25.

I've kept at it for a couple reasons: 1. Because I committed to it. I wasn't excited about it but I promised myself I'd do it, I know I can do, so I'm just doing it. 2. I'm hoping for a good payoff as far as fitness is concerned and 3. I promised myself my first ever full body massage if I made it to day 100.

Going solo in the burpee challenge is like being a Mormon with a whole bunch of non-member friends who know your standards. Everyone polices you. Even if you wanted to you're not getting away with an R rated film, a curse word or a drink or a smoke. Nobody's letting me give up. Its kind of nice to have the encouragement. Until they start getting critical about my form. Telling me I'm not jumping high enough or pressing hard enough in my push-up. To them I say: Are YOU doing the burpee challenge? No? Then leave me be.

So is it paying off? Yeah it is. I noticed a difference in my arms almost immediately. They started getting tighter and even a little cut. When I measured a month ago I had gained an inch in my arms since I started. Which made me mad. That's not exactly what I wanted. I mean a girl that looks like she can lift a car over her head isn't exactly the look I'm going for but I'm in too deep now to quit. I next noticed my thighs getting tighter. Followed by my butt. And last but not least my middle is following suit. In fact I moved from the second to the third notch in my belt yesterday. Its not so much that I've gotten slimmer as I've gotten tighter which again isn't exactly what I wanted but its better than fat and soft yeah?

Anyway, I'm in the home stretch. 23 days. Except it'll be the hardest 23 days so far. Sigh. I've got that massage on the horizon though. Wish me luck. But don't bug me about how deep my push-up is please.

Where the pad hits the snow

I love to ski. Of this there is no doubt. Luckily, my dad put a pair of skis on me at a young enough age that my "You've got to be joking. There's no way I'm doing that" reflex hadn't kicked in yet (which if you were curious was at about 5 yrs old). I was never very serious about it due to lack of funds, gear and skill until my senior senior year (5th year) of college got a little depressing. All my best friends had graduated and left me alone in freezing cold Logan and I had broken up with a guy who I was still in a ward with who insisted being a total jerk to me. I needed a distraction. And I chose skiing.

I got my own gear for Christmas and I signed up for USU's skiing class at Beaver Mountain which for $100 got me six lessons and six half day's worth of skiing. This was a game changer. Skiing suddenly went from something I did because I grew up at the foot of the Rockies and my dad was paying to something I really loved and was pretty good at.

The class I was in at Beaver Mountain consisted of three girls and one shy, slightly stout young man with a brand new pair of nice skis. Our instructor was a good-looking, middle-aged guy who did something a couple days a week that earned him enough money to ski whenever he wanted. On our last day of class we had arranged to have a little potluck at the top of the mountain (I brought muddy buddies of course). We rode the lift and skied a little ways down to a spot where the run curved and flattened out. My instructor demonstrated how to stick our skis straight up in the snow so that it made a chair back when you sat on the snow. The three girls got there skis in the ground in a jiff and promptly plopped down and started passing the food around. Our instructor busied himself with a piece of gear. After a bit I noticed that the guy in our class had put his skis in the snow but had moved away from us a little bit. He was holding and looking at one of his bare hands. Then I noticed the red drops in the snow.

I asked if he was alright. Turns out he put his skis in the snow using his bare hands and the brand new sharp edge of his brand new skis had sliced him right in the soft skin between two of his fingers. Someone suggested holding some snow on it to stop the bleeding. He picked a chunk up and held in between his fingers and it was instantly red. It was really bleeding. It wasn't long before the area around us looked like a small helpless animal had lost a fight with a less helpless animal with big teeth.

My instructor started checking his pockets for a band aid (although I think we knew a band aid wasn't going to cut it) but he came up empty. I started brainstorming what piece of gear (hat, gator) I could sacrifice for the cause when the girl next to me leaned over and whispered "I have a pad"...I was about to sarcastically congratulate her for getting her period when the light came on and I started to laugh. "Should I tell him?" she whispered.

"What?" our instructor asked.

"She has a maxi pad."

A smile spread onto my instructor's face. "That'll do it." he said.

And so it was that this quiet guy who probably got red in the face at the mere mention of a maxi pad, ended up with a big ol' overnighter wrapped around his bleeding hand to ski down the mountain to the first aid hut.

I mean really, can you think of anything more appropriate for absorbing blood? In fact this experience convinced me that every first aid kit should include one. It has also made me paranoid about handling my skis with my bare hands.

Remember how I used to write a blog?

So two of my three faithful readers mentioned how I haven't been writing much lately.

To them I say: You are right.

And by way of explanation let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time I was a very cynical person. Then I fell in love. And I became less cynical. Dare I say romantic even. I feel pretty confident in saying that it was the most romantic I may ever be (see, there's that cynicism). After a time, it became necessary for me to not be in love anymore. With such a deliberate mindset to not be in love I reverted very quickly to what must be my natural state: cynicism.

In an effort to keep a lid on such negative emotions I've avoided posting because anything I would have to say of late would have an unhealthy dose of vinegar in it.

But I don't want to be cynical and I do want to write. So look forward to more (hopefully positive) posts.

My poor roommates get the unedited version of my usual rants. Poor things.

Thanks friends.