Foreplay: As you know from my last post, I'm seriously trying to get back in shape. Mostly because:
- Running up a few flights of stairs leaves me panting like a fat puppy
- I'm tired of the not-so-subtle jabs by my tactless family; "Oh, look at your cheeks, haha! Have you gained weight? Better put down that margarita, haha!" [Note: Don't ever tell me what to do with my booze. I will tell you when I've had enough.]
- For the first time in my life, I couldn't fit into something in my wardrobe -- not because I had outgrown it, but because there was simply too much junk in the trunk
Body: Of course you realize that this means war.
The Down and Dirty: During the last couple weeks I've:
- Joined a gym for the first time in my life
- Used a personal trainer for the first time ever (and got my fat ass thoroughly handed to me)
- Gone to the gym at least 5 times a week
- Spent over an hour during each visit working on cardio and weight training
I was so ambitious about exercising that on the first day of my brand spankin' new gym membership I spent a good 2 hours on the treadmill, elliptical, and stationary bike while blazing through my borrowed copy of Water for Elephants. It was awesome -- I was burning hundreds of calories, getting some long overdue pleasure reading done, finally feeling physically and mentally productive... when I pulled a muscle. Badly.
I limped and squeaked in pathetic pain the whole walk home. I couldn't lift my left leg more than 3 inches off the ground. Putting pants on has never been so painful. Erm. Yeah.
I still forged ahead on the fitness front but abandoned the treadmill in favor of the less impacting elliptical. Everyday I dragged my body to the gym after a long day at work and put it through the wringer for at least an hour. I huffed and puffed until I felt the slow drip of sweat making its winding course down my shirt. Sexy, I know.
But what do you know! I started feeling more energized, more upbeat -- I felt better. I sleep better at night and put more effort into getting dressed in the morning. I don't mind going to the gym. In fact, I look forward to the coke-rush of endorphins now. I anticipate the first break of sweat and push myself towards that moment. And um... TMI WARNING but putting my pants on is difficult in a whole different sense now. Um. Yeah. Ahem...
The Afterglow: I'd say this is a resounding success. I don't know if I can actually keep this up though; 2 hours at the gym each day is a lot of time to dedicate. Work is piling on (10+ hour days aren't so bad, right? ...Right?) and I find myself finally sitting down to dinner at 10:30pm, in bed by 1:00am, and then repeating it all after 6 hours of sleep. And I don't even drink coffee.
On top of it all, my injury was two weeks ago and my leg still hurts. I know I should stop putting stress on it, but I can't help it. I'm stubborn and impatient and I want to be healthier NOW! Plus, I'm sure this is another tactic my body is using to prevent me from being active and in shape. Stupid body. I'd kick myself if my leg didn't already hurt so much.
Alright, Body, in the wise words of Homer Simpson: You don't like me and I don't like you, but let's do this and I can get back to killing you with beer.