Why Don't I Have Buns of Steel?

A typical Saturday morning around here starts early - awake at 6:00 AM or so, followed by one of us turning on the computer and then feeding the "alarm cat", Ripley, who is a far more effective wake-up system than our clock radio could ever be. After puttering around the bedroom for a few minutes, I make my way to the kitchen to pour myself a bowl of Cheerios before I head out to my Tread Powerfully class. I'm never too sure what Roman does during those blissfully quiet minutes when I'm away, 85 of them to be exact, but I think it has something to do with looking after all his meticulously organized spreadsheets and budgeting charts. After my class, we have my favourite meal of the week, which is the Big Weekend Breakfast, followed by coffee on the sofa in the cold months, or out on our splendid balcony in the warm ones.

This Saturday morning was no different from any other, except that this particular Saturday morning in the "aftersore" (definition - imagine every muscle in your entire body shrieking at you simultaneously every time you move or even think of moving) of an especially intense TP class, I asked the question, more of a rhetorical one really, "Why don't I have buns of steel?" Although I didn't actually expect an immediate answer to my question, I was not prepared for the raucous laughter that this provoked in Roman. Seconds passed, then something close to at least a minute, before he finally settled down. I'm thinking that he has probably formulated a sensitive and loving response that reassures me that my buns are, indeed, steel-like in their uncanny resemblance to beautifully carved cannon balls....or something like that. But I was not prepared for the silence. Done, end of story, not another peep from my laughing mate.

So my question remained, and still remains, unanswered. Why don't I have buns of steel? I have logged hours and hours power walking, which relies heavily on engaging those substantial gluteus minimus, medius and maximus muscles, through varying terrain, hilly and flat, kilometre after kilometre after kilometre. I'm certain that I've done thousands of deep leg lunges, air squats, leaping squats, one-legged squats and plain old regular squats. I've heard time and time again that these are the most effective exercises to target my womanly rump, lift it to colossal heights and render it invincible. I have felt the burn. And yet, I still do not have buns of steel.

Some might argue that it's all about diet and others might argue that it's all about sleep, and still others might claim that if I just wanted it badly enough, I could achieve what I desired. I have conducted a little online research of my own to find out what happens when we work a muscle hard and how we can build more of it. I can visualize those tiny, microscopic tears in the muscle fibers after they've been worked to fatigue. I'm pretty sure that most days when I exercise, I've worked my muscles to the point of exhaustion, glutes included, because they sure as heck scream at me later when I try to do something simple, like climb the stairs or bend over to pick up the cat. Is Pilates the answer? Or strength training? Or my beloved Tread Powerfully? Considering that I do all of the above, I should be well on my way to cannonball butt status.

I believe that God must be a woman, otherwise we humans would not be built this way. I mean, would a masculine God have positioned our most troublesome body part literally behind us, so that we are not constantly reminded of that, over which we have no control? Only a woman would be so clever.

Why don't I have buns of steel? I may never have the answer to this question, but at least I have Spanx.