You see, some people expressed envy of my long-ish
legs, straight hair, I oddly enough get complimented on my feet which is a
running joke in the family.
One thing I've never
heard people jealous of is my upper body strength. You know why?
BECAUSE I HAVE NONE!
Zero.
Zilch.Nada.
On a scale of weak
to strong, I hover somewhere around overcooked spaghetti. So in the effort to reach some fitness
targets I've added some weight-training to the regimen, which started this
morning. At the very early hour of 5:30
I rolled out of bed and made my way over to my body pump class, lead by a
highly caffeinated instructor.
Having been to
various weight classes before, I knew to aim low when it came to picking my
weight. That bar is deceptively heavy,
I'll have you know. So I tacked on 5lb
weights to either end and knew I'd be in for an achievable struggle.
Forty minutes in, I
was done, cooked, pushed, pulled, squated, rowed, pressed, done. Tricky part is is that there were still 20
minutes left in class. I took a quick swig
of water which was the poorest decision of the morning. I instantly felt nauseous. I couldn't lift my arms and now I was going
to puke. It was time for an exercise of
mind over matter. By the grace of God
alone I made it through without puking or fainting. It was a miracle of miracles.
I hobbled out, drove
home and got ready for my day. It hurt to shampoo my hair, blow dry my hair,
apply eyeliner, put on tights, open the car door, basically anything that
involves lifting my arms further than 4 inches from my body. Hell, it hurts just to sit.
Here it is, 14 hours later and
I've just rubbed my pecs (the most manish thing I could probably say) with
tiger balm and tossed back a couple of advil. My body is pissed.
But, I've got goals
I'm aiming for somewhere in between Michelle Obama and Gwyneth Paltrow
guns. Even if it kills me, which
half-way through this morning, I thought it might.
So, all that to say, happy friggin' Monday!
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