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ENLARGE
Use the audio player to listen to Eileen Burmeister read this week's column.
After 12 years in Douglas County, I can say that I love living in Roseburg. The slow pace of life, concerts in the park, taking time to sit and read by the river … these things are all distinctively “home” to me.
So when I travel outside of the state, I always breathe a sigh of relief when I get back to Roseburg. And this was particularly true after a trip to visit my sister, Kate, in Scottsdale, Ariz.
The first morning of my visit, Kate hijacked me to her gym for a “little workout.” I was promptly introduced to Mark-the-Trainer, a drill sergeant in running shoes who critiques, contorts and wreaks havoc on people's bodies for a living.
Mark-the-Trainer started by asking me to lift free weights above my head, an act that has always struck me as somewhat dangerous, resulting in me never doing it (for safety reasons, of course). But here I was, being told to pull in my abdominal muscles and bend my knees. Then the worst part was when he came up and touched my stomach, UNANNOUNCED, to make sure I was holding my abs in. Now, I'm thinking if I need someone to touch and see if my abs are in, I'm already behind the eight ball in the abdominal department. I thought long and hard about kicking him, and I would have, had I the balance at that moment to actually lift my leg.
After the weights, Mark-the-Trainer asked me to stand still with my arms hanging down at my sides. He showed me that my right hand hangs a full six inches lower than my left hand, pointing out that I am just begging for a slipped disc any day now. Encouraging, eh? I'm beginning to feel like Cro-Magnon Monkey Girl, and I can almost feel my right knuckles scraping the gym mats as I walk.
Next, Mark-the-Trainer had me perform lunges on a dome-shaped ball, asking me to (1) hold in my abdominal muscles, (2) stay balanced while lunging, (3) hold my shoulders back, and (4) stick my chest out.
“You've clearly never met my mother,” I muttered in between gasps for air. “There are four girls in my family and we've all been told repeatedly to NOT stick our chest out. Especially when we were draped in plaid Catholic school uniforms for most of our formative years. So you're working against 42 years of physical and emotional training, buddy.”
Honestly, how can one person be expected to do so many functions at once, AND deal with the emotional baggage of her childhood at the same time? I hadn't been called upon to physically and emotionally multitask this much since giving birth, and that was not a pretty sight either.
At least, I thought, I can count on my big sister to reward me with a great lunch at a fancy restaurant, a treat for this small-town girl. Bleary-eyed on the initial drive to the gym, I was sure we had passed a Macaroni Grill AND a Cheesecake Factory. Either one sounded like heaven compared to the Hades I was experiencing under Mark's reign of terror.
Finally our time was up, and free at last I sprinted to Kate's car, wondering if I should call our order in so that it was ready when we arrived. Instead Kate started the car then proceeded to pop open a protein shake and hand it to me.
“You're kidding, right?” I asked.
Sadly, she wasn't.
As my plan fell apart, I persuaded her to at least make a stop so I could get a 44 oz. Diet Pepsi, another bad habit to add to the list of slouching, knee-locking and poor balance.
I can't wait for Kate to come visit me in Roseburg. I plan to start the trip by taking her for a little float down the Umpqua River on a slow-leaking inner tube (hers, not mine).
Any other ideas I'm forgetting? I want to make her Roseburg experience one to remember. After all, it's what little sisters do.
So when I travel outside of the state, I always breathe a sigh of relief when I get back to Roseburg. And this was particularly true after a trip to visit my sister, Kate, in Scottsdale, Ariz.
The first morning of my visit, Kate hijacked me to her gym for a “little workout.” I was promptly introduced to Mark-the-Trainer, a drill sergeant in running shoes who critiques, contorts and wreaks havoc on people's bodies for a living.
Mark-the-Trainer started by asking me to lift free weights above my head, an act that has always struck me as somewhat dangerous, resulting in me never doing it (for safety reasons, of course). But here I was, being told to pull in my abdominal muscles and bend my knees. Then the worst part was when he came up and touched my stomach, UNANNOUNCED, to make sure I was holding my abs in. Now, I'm thinking if I need someone to touch and see if my abs are in, I'm already behind the eight ball in the abdominal department. I thought long and hard about kicking him, and I would have, had I the balance at that moment to actually lift my leg.
After the weights, Mark-the-Trainer asked me to stand still with my arms hanging down at my sides. He showed me that my right hand hangs a full six inches lower than my left hand, pointing out that I am just begging for a slipped disc any day now. Encouraging, eh? I'm beginning to feel like Cro-Magnon Monkey Girl, and I can almost feel my right knuckles scraping the gym mats as I walk.
Next, Mark-the-Trainer had me perform lunges on a dome-shaped ball, asking me to (1) hold in my abdominal muscles, (2) stay balanced while lunging, (3) hold my shoulders back, and (4) stick my chest out.
“You've clearly never met my mother,” I muttered in between gasps for air. “There are four girls in my family and we've all been told repeatedly to NOT stick our chest out. Especially when we were draped in plaid Catholic school uniforms for most of our formative years. So you're working against 42 years of physical and emotional training, buddy.”
Honestly, how can one person be expected to do so many functions at once, AND deal with the emotional baggage of her childhood at the same time? I hadn't been called upon to physically and emotionally multitask this much since giving birth, and that was not a pretty sight either.
At least, I thought, I can count on my big sister to reward me with a great lunch at a fancy restaurant, a treat for this small-town girl. Bleary-eyed on the initial drive to the gym, I was sure we had passed a Macaroni Grill AND a Cheesecake Factory. Either one sounded like heaven compared to the Hades I was experiencing under Mark's reign of terror.
Finally our time was up, and free at last I sprinted to Kate's car, wondering if I should call our order in so that it was ready when we arrived. Instead Kate started the car then proceeded to pop open a protein shake and hand it to me.
“You're kidding, right?” I asked.
Sadly, she wasn't.
As my plan fell apart, I persuaded her to at least make a stop so I could get a 44 oz. Diet Pepsi, another bad habit to add to the list of slouching, knee-locking and poor balance.
I can't wait for Kate to come visit me in Roseburg. I plan to start the trip by taking her for a little float down the Umpqua River on a slow-leaking inner tube (hers, not mine).
Any other ideas I'm forgetting? I want to make her Roseburg experience one to remember. After all, it's what little sisters do.
Eileen Burmeister is a freelance writer who lives and works in Roseburg. You can reach her at burmeistereileen@gmail.com.
