Things About #$#%#$# Exercise
I am committed, you guys. Like, I am totally doing it.
I am not sure what I am doing, but I am doing it for sure.
After a jaunt through hell with my brand new PLYO DVD yesterday, I woke up to what could be termed paralysis this morning.
Did you know that there is not a single movement of the human body that doesn't involve the muscles on the backs of your thighs? I didn't. Found that out today. I also decided that the small hill I jogged yesterday was actually a mountain in disguise.
But SOMEHOW I got out of bed. And SOMEHOW I put my shoes on and SOMEHOW I went for a "run", which we all know is code for a walk that involves a lot of panting, hopping in place, and good intention. I did almost two and a half miles, which is far, when you can't move. I went up the imposter mountain again, and came down in front of the school for the last quarter mile, where I tried really hard to jog and look cool and motivational for the kids. I think I heard some giggles and I realized I wasn't actually moving forward so I just gave up and walked home. By the time I reached my porch I knew I was in trouble. There are steps. Two of them. I got one leg up on the first step but that was all she wrote. I think I had to turn around and back up them on my bum, but I was in so much pain I don't really remember.
There is no position right now that doesn't make those muscles behind my legs scream bloody murder at me. I thought a hot bath might help, but once I had soaked for awhile I realized I had failed to consider the hurdle of getting out of the tub.
Putting pants on just isn't happening today. I apologize in advance, postmaster.
Working out to the point of uselessness every day has one definite perk: I am forced to lay on the couch and watch Netflix for most of the afternoon. If I could find a way to get paid for that I would be golden. I have a volleyball game to go watch tonight and the bleachers are already giving me panic attacks.
I am doing this 30 day challenge thingy that says I have to eat a small portion every three hours. I never. I binge eat every 8. It's just how I roll. It should be interesting. Not that I am against eating, ever. It's just all the remembering that I am really bad at.
Tomorrow we are supposed to tackle the REAL PiYo, so brace yourselves. Assuming I can get out of the bathtub by then....
I am not sure what I am doing, but I am doing it for sure.
After a jaunt through hell with my brand new PLYO DVD yesterday, I woke up to what could be termed paralysis this morning.
Did you know that there is not a single movement of the human body that doesn't involve the muscles on the backs of your thighs? I didn't. Found that out today. I also decided that the small hill I jogged yesterday was actually a mountain in disguise.
But SOMEHOW I got out of bed. And SOMEHOW I put my shoes on and SOMEHOW I went for a "run", which we all know is code for a walk that involves a lot of panting, hopping in place, and good intention. I did almost two and a half miles, which is far, when you can't move. I went up the imposter mountain again, and came down in front of the school for the last quarter mile, where I tried really hard to jog and look cool and motivational for the kids. I think I heard some giggles and I realized I wasn't actually moving forward so I just gave up and walked home. By the time I reached my porch I knew I was in trouble. There are steps. Two of them. I got one leg up on the first step but that was all she wrote. I think I had to turn around and back up them on my bum, but I was in so much pain I don't really remember.
There is no position right now that doesn't make those muscles behind my legs scream bloody murder at me. I thought a hot bath might help, but once I had soaked for awhile I realized I had failed to consider the hurdle of getting out of the tub.
Putting pants on just isn't happening today. I apologize in advance, postmaster.
Working out to the point of uselessness every day has one definite perk: I am forced to lay on the couch and watch Netflix for most of the afternoon. If I could find a way to get paid for that I would be golden. I have a volleyball game to go watch tonight and the bleachers are already giving me panic attacks.
I am doing this 30 day challenge thingy that says I have to eat a small portion every three hours. I never. I binge eat every 8. It's just how I roll. It should be interesting. Not that I am against eating, ever. It's just all the remembering that I am really bad at.
Tomorrow we are supposed to tackle the REAL PiYo, so brace yourselves. Assuming I can get out of the bathtub by then....