On Saturday night Matt and I went go karting. We originally had plans to go somewhere a little classier, but the plans changed at the last minute and that explains how I ended up wearing leggings, a cute floral dress, and black suede boots to the go kart track.
You could say I was a bit overdressed for the occasion.
We were meeting some friends there so while Matt and I sat in the parking lot waiting for them to arrive, I asked him if he had any requests for songs he would like to hear. And by “hear,” I meant “performed.” By yours truly. He answered in the negative but I didn’t let that stop me and I launched into a powerful rendition of
, followed up with Give My Regards to Broadway. I was spot on, naturally, hitting every note and probably causing passersby to think that Frank Sinatra himself was sitting in Matt’s car. New York, New York
We went inside a little while later and had to wait in a bit of a line while we watched the group before us cheat death as they sped around the track at frightening rates of speed. I conveniently had just enough time to solidify my decision that if I am riding in a vehicle that is capable of traveling at a speed upwards of 25 miles per hour I would prefer it to have, you know, DOORS. Perhaps a ROOF. I’m not asking for luxuries.
When it was our turn I stepped right up to the equipment shelf and buckled on a very large electric blue helmet and goggles, partially for safety and partially because why not complete my ensemble? I was a SIGHT, believe me. I chose a go kart, climbed in, fastened my seatbelt, and said the Rosary until the start flag was waved. Following the waving of that flag a series of rather unfortunate events began to unfold, involving me flooring the gas pedal, grossly underestimating the severity of the curve in turn one, slamming against the tire wall, and ultimately getting totally stuck.
That’s right. Turn ONE.
Give my regards to Nascar.
The lights blinked yellow and cautioned everyone all of the other drivers to slow down so they didn’t run into either me or the lucky attendant who had the pleasure of venturing onto the track to locate the driver who had managed to become completely immobile not twenty seconds into the session. I’m sure the attendant was JUST PLAIN SHOCKED that it was girl who chose to wear a DRESS go karting.
Luckily he was able to reach me quickly, which makes sense since I only made it about fifteen feet from the starting area. Before I knew it, I had been pushed off the tires and back onto the roadway of doom.
I survived the rest of the fifteen minutes around the track holding on for dear life but without slamming into anyone/anything or requiring the assistance of an attendant or medical personnel. So, even though I was lapped two or quite possibly three times by my fellow drivers, I consider the night a rip roaring success.
I awoke on Sunday morning to the strange sensation that two lead weights had taken up residence where my arms used to be. Washing my hair before church brought tears to my eyes, and maneuvering the shopping cart in Target? Forget about it. I feared irreparable deltoid damage had been done. By Monday night I was worse than ever, and decided that obviously I needed to either sue the go kart place for millions or seriously consider beginning some sort of exercise routine for my arms.
However, the last time I attempted to develop any sort of muscular tone in my arms is a painful memory, and I could not mean that more literally. It was two summers ago when I attempted to do the Thirty Day Shred OF TORTURE with Jillian Michaels. On day one, I was bursting with fitness related enthusiasm and couldn’t wait to show Jillian that the Shred was no match for me.
After her quick and slightly intimidating introduction, Jillian announced that hand weights were necessary for the workout routine. Hmm. Equipment was apparently an aspect I neglected to consider, so when she said that canned goods would be appropriate substitutes for weights, I was thrilled. I ran down to the kitchen in search of the largest canned goods I could find.
I managed to find two huge cans, and I wish I could say that there was something very healthy inside of them such as green beans or corn, but that would be a lie. Because those huge cans contained apple pie filling.
For some reason I found it incredibly ironic to be doing bicep curls with industrial size cans of apple pie filling.
Nevertheless, the apple pie and I made it through levels one and two of the Shred OF TORTURE, but by level three I decided that I would much rather just eat the apple pie filling than slowly raise it to shoulder level, hold for twenty seconds, and repeat ten times, thankyouverymuch Jillian. So I quit.
Give my regards to Jillian.
I am finally starting to feel better though, so I won’t be suing the go kart place. And let’s face it, go kart bitterness and temporary arm pain does not a lawsuit make. And I won’t be doing the Shred again either.
What I am open to doing is eating apple pie.
At least that’s something I can do in a cute floral dress and leggings. And black suede boots.