Strong???

Here's the situation: Eric comes out of his office to find the room covered in plastic and me with a roller in my hand, painting the ceiling. My back, neck and arms were all about to fall off, so I handed the roller to Eric telling him that a big, strong man could do the work much easier than wimpy old me.
Laurie: "Wow honey, you can paint! I should take a picture for proof!"
Eric: "I paint. I painted a whole barn on my mission."
Laurie: "Really? You're counting something you did 20 years ago?"
I am a painting freak. I probably paint a new room every month or so. No exaggeration. Through our marriage I've come to realize that painting is my illness and not to put the tasks upon my husband. Really this was the first time he's picked up a paint brush in the entire time I've known him. Might seem trivial to you, but believe me, it is worth documenting.

After handing off the painting to Eric I realized that I was supposed to meet Kayley at the gym for a weight lifting class called Strong. That title alone should have been a clue. But I raced to scrub all the paint off my hands. Arms. Face. Hair. I was about to start on my legs, but decided it would just be easier to wear yoga pants. I went to pick up the kids from various friends' houses and arrived at the gym 10 minutes later than planned. I jumped on the stair climber for the pre-class cardio and only got 20 minutes in before it was time for the class. No worries though, I was already sweating profusely.
Let me preface this by saying that I hate exercise classes. I feel like everyone is staring at me and rolling their eyes at how weak I am. Logic tells me they're all really just worried about their own reflections, but it doesn't stop me from becoming self conscious to the point of nervous giggling. Things were going along smoothly enough and I had a great view of a white, lacy thong some really strong lady in front of me was wearing. (Honestly? A thong to do lunges? WHY?) We laid down on our mats and started to lift the barbell over our chests, I think it was supposed to work out our pecks but I could be wrong. My arms were shaking so badly I was scared that I might drop the barbell on the thong lady's face. It was all the painting, or at least I'm telling myself that's what it was. I had to lay the bar down on my chest and try to compose myself. I thought I was going to hyperventilate trying not to laugh out of total humiliation. Then she made us get in position for push-ups.
I can't do a push-up to save my life. Even as a kid. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Last summer, at our neighborhood barbeque, all the girls were trying to teach me how. The guys thought it was really funny so they tried to step in and show me. Nope. Not a single one. When I get in the 'correct position' my pelvis sinks like an anchor. I'm chalking it up to being so tall. Anyway, right as I get down to my 'faking it' pose and feel my face turn crimson, imagine my delight to see a gym employee come into the room carrying a sign with my name on it!!! Hurray, one of my kids has caused enough trouble in the daycare that they need me! Oh blessed potty accidents! I'll spare you the details of the potty emergency. Please note that at this point, my kids had helped me out of two workouts.
We got home from the gym, I made the kids some dinner and turned on my Winsor Pilates dvd. I figured that the least I could do was that. I laid down on the floor and within 26 seconds, all three kids were on the floor with me, doing scissors with their legs. I really wish I had a picture of that! I got about 10 minutes into the video before Luke and Adam had a couple of paint stirrers and were using them to play the drums on my back and Cameron was in my way and insisted that her workout was more important than mine. So I gave up.
After all these failed attempts at working out
why is it that every muscle in my body aches?