We Laughed Our Glutes Off
October 23, 2007
Fun fact about Amy: She runs like a weirdo.
If you know me personally, you've probably come to realize this. It's strikingly obvious any time I chase the ice cream truck or run into the road to gather my unruly toddler. And if you don't know me personally, I'm not sure that I can adequately describe my stride, but for the purposes of this post, I will try.
Let's see...If I'm trotting along and you decide to run next to me on the right side, my right heel will kick you in the shin. If you run next to me on the left side, my left heel will kick you in the teeth. And if you cheer me on from the sidelines, you'll probably get chills and feel motivated to become a better person because I genuinely look like a girl with a slight physical impairment who has courageously overcome the odds. It's really very touching.
This stride problem was bad in high school, but over the years, it's only gotten worse. My ankle hurts, my hip hurts, my shoes wear out too quickly, and it's all because I run like an injured petting-zoo animal.
I knew the issue needed to be addressed, but I had no idea who to call.
Finally, after much thought, and a run-in with his wife at the park, I decided to call Marcus, the friendly neighborhood fitness trainer. Not only is Marcus a personal fitness trainer, he's also a physical therapist--in other words, Marcus is the man for me.
So I called him, we made an appointment, and last night around 7 o'clock, Marcus showed up on my step. Jared and I were putting some groceries away when I opened the door, and holy crap-a-moly, we were both rendered speechless. Marcus--how should I put this delicately?-- is unbe-freaking-lievably hot.
This man looked like he was either computer generated or airbrushed--I can't decide which one. We're talking rippling abs, beautifully toned biceps, and a set of shoulders which he could easily throw me over as we scamper off into the sunset.
I wanted to say, "Welcome to my bachelorette pad. This is the maintenance man, and he's just leaving," as I casually pushed Jared out the door.
But instead I said, "Hi Marcus, this is my husband and we're in an open relationship."
Ok, not really. I said, "Hi Marcus, thanks for coming. Your little boy is adorable and I love chatting with your wife at the park!"
As he turned around to hang his coat on a hook Jared glared over at me, put on a surprised expression and clearly mouthed the words: HE LOOKS JUST LIKE ME! I mouthed back: TOTALLY!
As we began our session, I quickly came to realize that Marcus was a normal human being, just like the rest of us. He was nothing but professional as he evaluated my bone structure and bounced medical terms back and forth with Jared. After a long and thoughtful pause, Marcus proclaimed that my troubles were originating in my hips and glutes (aka: butt). "Roll over onto your stomach" he said, "I want to show this to Jared."
I rolled over and he starting rambling off some information about my bum muscles. As he talked and pointed he paused to say, "Don't worry, Amy. I won't actually touch your glutes."
And that's when my husband piped in. He was like, "Oh, that's fine Marcus. You can palpate Amy's glutes. She knows that it's all professional."
So he did. Marcus poked my glutes. And when I turned my head to make eye contact with my husband, he gave me an affirmative little nod and mouthed the words: YOU'RE WELCOME.
As soon as Marcus left, we totally laughed our glutes off. Oh, and I should mention, while the element of teamwork was very much appreciated, I will never return that favor for my thoughtful, selfless husband.