This week I bought a kettlebell after reading an article about it in my Prevention magazine.  It is purported to be a great workout tool to get you in shape quicker than other workout routines, and it’s supposed to be fun, to boot.  I’d like to know whose definition of fun are we using here?

First of all, it looks nothing like a kettle or a bell, which should have been my first clue to be wary of glowing recommendations.  It’s actually a big weight with a handle on it.  Excuse me, but haven’t we women been using one of those most of our lives?  We call it a pocketbook.  Anyway, I chose a ten-pound kettlebell, thinking if I opted for one any lighter, I would be considered wimpy.  

When I got it home and read the warnings that came inside the box (if they had been on the outside, no one in her right mind would buy it), I began to think I should have done more research.  The first sentence says (I kid you not):  “The risk of injury from participating in this fitness regimen and/or from the performance of these exercises is significant, and includes the potential for catastrophic injury or death.”  That evening I hauled my wimpy body back to Target and traded in my ten-pounder for the seven.

I watched the short video that came with my kettlebell.  The first exercise involved swinging that weight between your legs, then whipping it up to eye level in one smooth snapping motion, then back between your legs again, keeping it close to your body.  When my husband asked if I thought he might like the kettlebell, I pictured that exercise and the “potential for catastrophic injury” and said, “Nah, honey.  Stick to your gym.”

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