The husband and I recently joined a gym (yay for us!!) and we went in this week for our free fitness profile. They asked us bunches of questions (them: how active are your jobs? us: um, we sit in front of computers all day. but we move our arms! and hands and fingers!), pinched our skin fats, took our weights and measurements, and then it was time for the physical tests.
I’m proud to say, we survived it! And I have to say, I think we did quite well, considering the fact that we have done little more than sit for the last 6 years. Sure, sometimes I vacuum or walk through the grocery store – but that’s about all the physical activity my life demands these days.
I survived 15 minutes on the treadmill, did 28 sit-ups in a minute, and did 20 (girl) push-ups before my arms started shaking so much I feared I might find myself square on my face.
But then there was the flexibility test.
I have never, in my life, been able to touch my toes. When I’ve worked on it for months, I can get kinda close – like the lower part of my shin. When I was 8 and working on my presidential fitness stuff – I could do the mile, the sit-ups, more pull-ups than any of the other girls – but the darn flexibility test was just impossible. I remember being met with disbelief when I stretched as far as I could go, when my legs were trembling with the strain, my knees begging to bend, and my fingertips were still nowhere near my toes.
So I failed the flexibility test miserably. Couldn’t even register on their little measurement device, I think I only made it just past my knees.
I’ve never believed much in the whole touch-your-toes test, I guess because I’ve never been able to. I don’t think it’s kept me from accomplishing anything physical that I’ve ever wanted to. I’ve hiked up and down mountains, done round-house kicks, managed to get 80-pound boxes into my house. The only thing I’ve missed out on is, well, the satisfaction of touching my toes.