Tried It Tuesday: The Day I Fought for My Life Against the Perfect Ab Crunch Device

Today the motto for my Flab-YOU-Less Forks group was “Try-It-Tuesday”. You know, try to put the clothes away, try for 200 more steps, try for more water…in no way did I mean for me to try my own life!

Let me set the scene: It’s Tuesday. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and I’m over here plotting my own demise with a piece of fitness equipment that looks innocent but is clearly designed by someone who absolutely hates joy and is definitely into pain #seekhelp

We used to have that Huge Abs by Tony contraption - you know, the one that promised abs of steel but only worked one sad little set of muscles? Cute idea, but as a fluffy girl, I need versatility. I need something that says, “We’re in this together, sis.” 

Enter: The Perfect Fitness Ab Crunch Device.

Damian, my future husband and part-time personal trainer (read: instigator), retrieves this thing from the back porch like it’s a sacred artifact. He washes it, lets it dry in the wind like it’s meditating before battle, completely unaware that it’s about to send me to meet my maker.

We bring it inside.

And then… I stared at it. For DAYS. Because listen - getting down to ground level is one thing. Getting back up? That’s a whole Marvel movie plot twist you didn't know you needed. 

Cue ADHD overthinking mode: 

“What if I get stuck? 

What if the dog thinks I’m playing dead? 

What if I have to call 911 and explain this mess?”

Fast forward to yesterday. I finally decided to try it. But first, let me tell you about my yoga mat. Damian bought me this AMAZING Five Below mat months ago - a blue beauty that’s basically the Cadillac of mats. Five feet long, three feet wide, half an inch thick. It came with an extra pad and blocks (for knees? Pushups? Perfect spacing? Jury’s still out).

So, I set up my mat like I’m about to summon fitness spirits. I lower myself to the floor like a toddler learning to crawl, praying the dog doesn’t decide to “help” by licking my face mid-descent. Hands on the ab bar.

Deep breath.

Let’s go.

First set: 15 crunches.

Second set: 15 crunches.

Breathing like Darth Vader but feeling proud.

My muscles are screaming like they just found out cardio exists. I sit up, pulse racing, breathing like I just ran from the cops, and feel… gratitude. Because I did 30. Not consecutively – but did 15, prayed, then did 15 more - but still. Victory is mine #halleluyer

Getting up off the floor? That’s a whole saga. I pivot, grunt, hold onto furniture like it owes me money, and finally stand.

Then I just… stand there. Waiting. Because I wasn’t sure if something spectacular was going to happen - like maybe my abs would pop out and salute me - but mostly I just didn’t want to rush into walking because my abdominal muscles were filing a formal complaint.

Yesterday came and went. Today? Round two. Because apparently today I woke up and chose violence with my own body 😂

So, after yesterday’s crunch-a-thon, I woke up today thinking: “Girl, you survived. You’re basically an athlete now.” Spoiler alert: I am not.

I place the pads under my knees, use everything around me to get down to the floor like I’m lowering a grand piano. While I’ve lost 27 pounds and can walk further than I ever thought possible, getting all of THIS (insert dramatic hand gesture up and down my body) to the ground isn’t a “drop-it drop-it low” moment - it’s a “hold onto something and hope the dog doesn’t break my fall” situation.

First set: 15 crunches.

Second set: 15 crunches.

Breathing like a freight train.

 

Then I decided to work my obliques. Why? Because personal growth is like voluntary suffering, right? This means knees to the side: to the left, to the left first.

First set of 15? Barely made it.

Second set? Damian had to count because I was too busy focusing on breathing and not dying.

 

Then I go limp and pull my knees back up. Now for the right side.

First oblique crunch? Y’all… that muscle under your butt cheek seized up like a tongue on a frozen pole. I was in so much pain I yelled Charlie Whore instead of Charlie Horse!  I’m laughing and saying owieowie, and bargaining with Jesus, and Damian is over here laughing silently like a Pixar villain while trying to massage my leg.

“W.I.T.A.F.” I say out loud!

“I’m going to have to reposition my leg,” I gasp, because I refuse to go through that again. I reposition, finish the sets, and then sit up slowly, questioning every life choice that led me here.

Damian asks, “You okay?” and I hit him with the stern voice: “YES. Everything’s fine.” (It was not fine.)

I get up, hydrate like I just crossed the Sahara, and then - because I’m clearly unwell - I dance with weights for an entire song. Why? Because I committed to doing this three times a week, every other week. And honestly? I think I need to be committed for thinking that was a good idea.

The Moral of the Story

✅ Crunches will humble you.
✅ Obliques will betray you.
✅ Dogs will judge you.
✅ Husbands will laugh at you.
✅ And yet… I DID IT. Twice. In two days. And that, my friends, is spectacular enough.

So if you’ve got an abandoned fitness gadget hiding in your garage, porch, or under the bed - dust it off. Join me in the trenches. Let’s crunch our way to glory (or at least to being able to laugh without wincing).

#FlabYouLessForks #CrunchOrCry #ObliqueObituary #CharlieHorseChronicles #PrayAndCrunch