Working It Out

Given my illness last week, getting back into the swing of work outs this week has been tough. I'm struggling. I admit it.

If there was one consolation to being sick it was this: last week was the first time in ages I woke up and wasn't sore anywhere. Every workout gives me progress and strength, but it also reasserts the fact that I am still galactically out of shape. I just keep my focus on the longer term. It's taken a decade of depression and inactivity to get to where I am now. I'm not going to remedy that fact in two weeks.

Still, my ego's a little bruised when I'm doing arm pulls and 10 pounds is killing me. KILLING. ME.

I have to admit I've been a bit whiny this week too. Monday I was just so tired. I didn't look much better today. And even though he doesn't let me off the hook, I've never had a good poker face. I think my trainer realized today that I'm having a bad week. I committed to myself that I wouldn't whinge, but even I balked when he gave me the ten pound medicine ball to do squats with.

I basically said to get me the six pounder, cause there was no way. I'm stopping when I need to as well, but I finish all my reps.

My form was terrible with an exercise on Monday, but I said well, my form may not be good, but you will always get the best I have to give that day. My trainer seemed satisfied with that.

I'm having to actively work to not feel despondent even though my stride's been broken temporarily. Trying to get in shape when you've never really been there is tough, I won't lie. But what are my options? Getting older, fatter and weaker? I don't think so. I am making this change happen. I walked out today with the back of my arms and shoulder blades burning and pulsing.

It felt uncomfortable. It felt good too.