Dude. I’m tired.
I don’t ever remember being this tired. Which is to say, that I have blocked out all the other times that I was also dragging ass.
The opera closed last night so now I can get on with my life. It seemed like such a short haul and yet, a metric ton of work for just two performances. I guess it sold well and people enjoyed it so that’s what counts.
Today also marked my return to Fat Camp. I was unable to attend class on Wednesday night due to dress rehearsal and, well, I could have gone on Thursday. But didn’t. I had my littles back for the first night in 10 nights. They were quiet and clingy and ever so glad to be home. So glad that they went to bed early and I got to watch Burn Notice in peace. I didn’t interrupt our blissful home to haul them to the crazy child care area just to be trained by the nutritionist (!) because Molly was off skiing with her family.
I mean, how dare she? Doesn’t she know that we need her? Anyway…
So I’ve had two weeks with a crazy schedule and almost no real sleep and eating away from home. This? Is not different from any other show I’ve worked in the last 2 years. (I’ve been with the opera for 2 years…crazy) Each and every show, I gain anywhere from 3 to 7 pounds. That don’t go away when it’s over. I attribute it to my sleep substitutes: salt, sugar and Starbucks. Not to mention cheeseburgers, giant Old Chicago salads, multiple beers, Blo-pops and tiny Snickers bars.
So my success story, if there is to be one, is that I did not gain a single pound. Not an ounce.
Now, I didn’t lose anything. At least that I can determine. I need a few days for my sleep to regulate. And a day or two at the gym.
But here’s what I did gain: confidence.
I knew I could lift. And tote. And I knew that I looked good doing it. Or…better? Better than I did because it wasn’t as difficult. I am stronger for sure. But also, my jeans fit properly and I didn’t get tired from standing all day long. Even when I thought it was a good idea to have a personal training session right in the middle of rehearsals.
She had me on the DAT machine. It’s like an industrial version of a BowFlex. Except with real weights. But you could do a million different exercises on that thing. She had me do this one called a “Woodchopper”. Or something. I guess it’s usually done with a medicine ball. And Molly knows me a little too well by now so we did not use a ball for fear that I would lose my grip and toss it across the free weights.
It’s kind of hard to explain but I’ll give it a shot. There was a rope at my ankles, attached to a 22.5 pound weight. I pulled the rope from a squat position and stood up and twisted. You have to move quickly and powerfully or you’ll never make it. It was…empowering. And painful. And the rope felt natural in my hand. More so than a barbell.
I paid dearly for that session. To the tune of being mocked for about 2 days following because I was unable to sit or stand up without the assistance of armrests. And I hobbled a little. Okay, a lot.
Tonight was unremarkable. I got there late and got the worst treadmill. My partner was as grumpy and unmotivated as I. There was a treadmill incident but someone different. Next time, I’m seriously afraid it will be me. And I’ll get my hair stuck in the belt or something equally dumb.
As much as I love working, and I really do, I am glad to have some time to myself again. To get my food journal going and to focus on pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Which use to be my “uncomfortable zone.”
So…that’s progress. Maybe?