Exercise balls are big, round, make people look goofy, and have always seemed like the least threatening things in the world-- kind of like Dumbo. In fact, I love exercise balls so much that not only am I a proud owner of my very own purple ball, but I also took a six-week Pilates BALL class over the summer, so that I could learn more about the amazingness of exercise balls. Despite my affinity for exercise balls, I view them as a dying trend, too-- something that is being replaced by all these silly things like discs and kettlebells and whatnot. In a world full of these exercise ball replacements, I felt like I was one of the few remaining who truly understood the marginalized exercise ball.
But then, The Accident happened.
The fateful day after which I would no longer feel the excitement of clutching a bright red exercise ball in the rec center studio after Jared, our instructor, would tell us that we'd need to get an exercise ball for that day's routine. No, no more. The Accident now marks my last dance with the exercise ball, and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Let me back up. I'm the heartless, mean-spirited butthole that laughs when people are escorted via snowmobile by paramedics to the ski lodge on ski slopes. That is, until I, too, was the victim of a newbie skiing mom who skiied right into my face. I'm the bitch who will tail you on the highway, and then complain about how there are so many awful drivers on the roads after being tailed 10 miles up. Yup, I'm That Bitch. So, it's no surprise that, fast-forwarding to that fateful Accident Day, I was also the pretentious snob who prided herself on having such a great relationship with a piece of sweaty exercise equipment, and then fell off of my so-called (inanimate object)
hmm, I've heard good things about those balance disks.... and those ValSlides.... hmmmmm....
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