By: Ann Brown
I’ve been remiss in doing my Kegel exercises, have you noticed?
Each new school year I make a commitment to doing 25 of those pelvic toners at least four times a week. I know that they are very important in keeping everything where it is supposed to be, pelvically speaking, and I do not want to be one of those women whose unsupported bladder simply ups and falls out into her underpants one day while she is giving a speech to the Garden Club. It was embarrassing enough that time my shoulder pad inched its way down my chest, resulting in a large squarish third boob during a conference with my kid’s very very very good-looking history teacher.
The beginning of the school year fills me with resolution. The beginning of the school year also coincides with the Jewish Holidays, which gives me an added incentive to tone up down there since, as a Cantor sitting up on the dais all day, I have to go long periods without being able to leave and go to the bathroom to pee. This is especially dangerous to the lazy menopausal female sporting a lax pelvis if the unexpected, errant remark is made by the Temple president in his attempt to announce the ritual where we go together to the river to cast our sins and demons into the water and, in an unfortunate twist of the tongue, tells the entire congregation that we will now adjourn to Willamette Park to “cast our semen into the river”.
It is entirely possible that one cannot do enough Kegels to avoid urinating all over the dais chair at a moment such as that one.
You’d think that experience would be motivation enough to squeeze and relax, squeeze and relax, squeeze and relax every day, but – you have to agree with me – it’s really hard to remember to do those Kegels. For one thing, I guess I don’t pay much attention to my pelvis unless there’s something noteworthy or alarming happening down there, like a brush fire or an orgasm. Plus, I tend to make a little grimace – scrunching up an eye and sticking out my bottom teeth and shit – while Kegeling so I can’t really do it in public. And even if I could keep a poker face at the same time I was squeezing my kegel maker, I’ll tell you what I absolutely cannot do: maintain a conversation at the same time.
I was at Safeway a few weeks ago, at the end of a long checkout line, when I suddenly realized it has been weeks since I’ve done my kegels so I figured why not, and proceeded to do it right then and there. I started off doing pretty well, got up to 11, 12, 13….and then someone from my parenting class got in line behind me and wanted to chat.
Thinking about it now, I should have just stopped squeezing but I was on a roll and wanted to make it to 25. Plus, if you stop squeezing your pelvis every time someone tries to chat with you in line at the supermarket, you will never get the job done. So I smiled and schmoozed with this nice mom, trying to maintain and isolate, but after a few seconds, something had to give. I finally just stopped talking altogether and fully devoted myself to the grunts and facial tics that complemented the work I was doing inside my pants until I got to 25. I probably looked like some wild animal trapped inside Safeway, pacing in circles, lifting its tail, grunting, desperately looking for a place to poop.
So, here’s the new plan: every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from 10-11AM we will text each other and remind one another to do 25 Kegels. Tweet it to your friends. Fill the airwaves with our chatter and our grunting. Join me, Pelvic America, in keeping our (pelvic) borders strong and secure.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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