Laundry and dishes after working out: Just don't do it!

Halous alles! Today I am writing from a very sore place. Not mentally by any means, since I'm still avoiding practicing my Afrikaans and researching grants. But physically, my arms feel like jello. This weekend I decided to take the local gym up on their free membership for PCVs. I walked over after going to the post office (more on the care package below) and decided to put in some work. After all, I want a Nama booty by the end of this journey. I first tried to step on the tread mill, you know to do some jogging  walking and get my cardio in. There were 3 tread mills, the first one and third were out of order, so I tried the second one. I go to start it up and realize that something is not right. The track feels like it is stuttering and I might get catapulted off. Quickly the owner and another gym goer walk over and try to help me. After playing with it for a few seconds with no success, the owner tells me to just use one of the bikes. So I hope on a bike and get cycling. Gosh, you would think I was doing a marathon. Clearly I am more out of shape than I realize. After 15 minutes and 7 miles, I'm pretty sweaty. And since it is now 12:30 and the gym closes at 1, I decide to move over to weights.

I go for about 1,000 50 leg presses, which are fairly easy for my thunder thighs and man calves. Then I move over to arms. This is where I should have just stopped and accepted the jiggle that I have. But no, I wanted to prove that I could do it. So I went on to do tricep dips, curls, dead lifts, and a whole bunch of other things I don't know the name for but can imagine a body builder doing. The 5kg felt like 500 and I lasted maybe 15 minutes. Then I proceeded to painstakingly do 1,000 100 crunches and I called it a sweaty day. Right in time, because the owner was getting antsy to shut J.Lo off the speakers and close up shop. After that I walked home and quickly got into the house to open up my first care package!

This slightly crumpled box is like Christmas

Yes, I've been in Namibia for 4 months and this was my first mail ever. So needless to say, I was ecstatic and eager to open it. I was overjoyed to see that my mother had sent me 10 pairs of VS panties (because you can never have enough), socks, the classiest school supplies, a framed picture of myself and my grandparents, Ponds, and to top it all off- soy sauce, Tony Chacheres, and sriracha. I was in heaven. After I finished with my tears of joy, I hopped in the bath so I could put on a new pair of underwear. Something about strutting around in new underwear is just magic, nothing can get me down. Then, I topped my day off by making some fried rice with my new fancy shmancy condiments and burning my tongue by being overzealous with the sriracha. Totes worth it though.

Care package contents with a guest appearance by Miley

The scorching fried rice in question

Today, to prepare for my impending journey to the tourist playground of Namibia, I decided to be productive and do laundry and dishes. Because the line outside of my flat is often overtaken by my neighbors, I had to hit the ground running and churn out enough clean clothes to stake me claim early. Call me Whirlpool, because I made it through 3 batches of clothes. Oh the agony of my arms though! Each time I went to wring the clothes out, I could feel the lactic acid, or whatever devil concoction runs through my muscles, hiss. Then, to punish myself further,  I started on the dishes. I'll be 100% honest and say that is a task that is still in process. After scrubbing about 5 dishes, I decided to leave the rest to "soak". Maybe by the end of this evening, I will resume my Cinderella chores. But for now, I am going to sit on my not so Nama booty and enjoy all the internets has to offer.

Where my triceps went to die

Sunset from my prison-like kitchen window isn't half bad