…And Then, There Was This Ball

13 May


I am now the proud owner of a giant bubble-gum-pink Pilates ball.

…The reason is: this show I’m doing, (after the show I’m doing), wherein I will be required to do this:

(see “this” here.)

One obviously needs to be either an alien or a gymnast, or at the very least have a core of steel in order to accomplish this.  I think we can all agree that I am/have none of these things.

…Which means I need to whip into shape, like woa.

Have still been losing poundage at a slowly melting rate through the last production…which was meant to make…say, wearing a corset in this one…just a little bit more comfortable.  But now I have this whole other level of “fitness” I need to achieve in order to keep up with the “next new thing.”

Farce is a physical beast. And I am in no way fit for it at the moment.

…Enter in a private coach structure of single, to double, to eventual triple reps in a very specific sequence that will apparently morph my body into a super model by the end. 

(Albeit a very short one.)

(Provided I do it right.) 

(And we all know I’ll prob’ly screw it up.)

(But there is some credit in trying, anyway.)

…The point is: I now have this gi-fucking-gantic ball in an already crammed apartment, that I have to do something with in it’s down time. And (I guess) do something with, NOT in it’s down time.  And I have nowhere to put it.  The bastard was so huge I couldn’t even fit it into Harriet just to get it home without almost killing myself.

…Which was prob’ly really funny to anyone who might have been watching at the time, but not to me.

…Because that is what comedy is all about: Serious business with uncomfortable (and in some cases “tragic”) circumstances to the “doer,” providing great  delight to all the assholes standing by and watching, while it happens.

Tonight…”comedy” included me in MC Hammer PJ pants (roughly four sizes too big), and oversized Wellies, trying to achieve the reverse of a “square peg into a round hole” phenomenon, and failing badly.  This is where current bodily heft ended up helping.  If I was “fit” I NEVER would have been able to get a running start towards the ball already wedged in the door, and pop it out the ass end, into the passenger window.  No.  If I was “fit” I woulda just bounce right off of it, and collided with an oncoming car, like a bug on a windshield, and that would have been the end of me.  In a “possibly amusing to others, though probably not to me,” kinda way.

…Instead I propelled that bastard inwardly, then spent a great deal of time on the ass-end of the trip, trying to hug onto the ball, while pulling it backwards towards me out of the car. 

…But then if the ball won’t fit on it’s own, the ball, with your arms around it, REALLY won’t fit. One learns this concept quickly.  By like the eighth or ninth try.And then getting out of the car to reach inward to unwedge it from the passenger seat, only really achieves plummer butt-crack-flashing the entire wall of windows to your building.  Which was still better than the time, I accidentally stepped back onto the puddle of  PJ bottoms rooted by my Wellies, partially pantsing myself, while arms were still stuck, wedged around the ball, and in the car doorway, totally helpless to resolve the situation.

Luckily, it was dusk.  So prob’ly only ten or twenty of my neighbors saw me.

…Which I might have kept to a slimmer number of witnesses, had I not spent the entire time cussing out the ball (and circumstances) while it was all happening.

Eventually…said ball was free, I pulled up my pants, and proceeded to my building.

…Where the struggle between clothing, and clompy Wellies, my bag of knitting shit, along with the giant bubble-gum-ball, commenced all the way through the main pass door, and up the flight of stairs to my apartment.

…Where (exhausted), I kicked open the door, and let everything fall to the floor, in a heap. The ball, having grown easily to five times it’s original size, bounced with taunt heft directly into the living room, managing to collide with every breakable thing possible, before settling where it is currently residing…in such a way, that I can no longer even enter the room.

Meanwhile, I am now too exhausted to work-out, at all (on account of the entire episode), and have decided to just blog, wash my face, ignore the devastation in the living room that I can’t get into now anyway, and think heavily on the topic of possibly beginning my new fitness regime tomorrow.

…Or at least consider, thinking heavily about it.

“Fitness” is a very solemn undertaking, not to be toyed with lightly.

Why else would they have all those warnings about consulting your doctor, before you begin to attempt it?

I mean fuck, I coulda died twice tonight, been arrested for indecent exposure, and might have as much as $50 or $60 in property damages now…just from trying to transport the damn equipment.

A single. Cocking. Ball.

“Fitness” is FIERCE you guys.



One Response to “…And Then, There Was This Ball”


  1. He Can Benedict My Beatrice Any Day… | - June 18, 2013

    […] for m’first night off since Tech week, I started back up with my walks and wars with the Big Pink Ball.  Twenty minutes of Pilates and a six-mile trek was rewarded by a 3D date with my lover: Benedict […]

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