Thirtysomething

Stretch

So 11 months into my gym membership, I finally made good on my promise to myself to take a class. I decided on Sunday morning to go to a stretching class. I figured it was a good way to ease into classes. I want to work up to taking power yoga, but the very concept of adding "power" to "yoga" seems unsettling. Anyway, so I go to this stretching class which turns out to be less about stretching and more about bodily contortion. I'm very flexible in some ways but totally inflexible in others. I can put my feet behind my head (hold your comment, please) but I can't touch my toes. Anyway, after 60 minutes of feeling like my hamstrings were going to snap, I decided to push myself a little and do my usual work out routine*

*please note: this means I was at the gym for 2 solid hours. TWO SOLID HOURS. Do you understand how dedicated I am???

Anyway, I did the bike, I did stairmaster, I did weights. I came home, completely spent, but feeling pretty good about myself. I rewarded myself with two desserts last night. TWO desserts for the TWO hours I spent at the gym. I didn't even feel guilty about it. I felt damn good.

Today, however, is a whole new ballgame. My thighs are screaming at me, "You damn bitch, what were you thinking spending TWO SOLID HOURS at the gym yesterday? Idiot."

Tonight, more punishment. Some sort of aerobic activity for 45 minutes, maybe 50 if I'm lucky. I may throw in weights, too but since I did them yesterday, I may lay off that. Crunches and yoga at home to top everything off.

Have I mentioned that I hate working out?

posted by DJ Heavy D @ 6:05 AM