Fat Camp, day 21.

What day is this?

Sorry about the absence.  It has been noticed, I see. 

The girls and I went back to Iowa last weekend to visit friends.  It was just about the only weekend I could get away until it is full blown spring.  The girls had a great time and were super emotional on the way home.  I was feeling weird the whole trip.  I thought it was maybe my emotions.  Or, rather, my mixed emotions.

Turns out, I was sick.  Or getting sick.  I drove home, 5+ hours with the littles, with the aches and chills and fever that precedes strep throat.

I know.  Who knew that grownups could get strep throat?  I don’t think I’ve had it since…forever.  A decade?  Two?  It’s been a while.  And I don’t care to have it again.  Because I don’t bounce back from a 103 degree fever like the children do.  I’m still weak.

To that end, I finally drug (dragged?) my weak ass back to the gym today.  This was after no less than a dozen emails to and from Molly on the condition of both my fever and my throat and my ability (or inability) given the fact that I got winded yesterday walking to the mailbox.  At the end of the driveway.  I was in bad shape.  Was?  Am?

It was a hectic experience just getting there.  Littles and unexpected spring snow and supper and parking and Amelia just about wetting her pants getting to the locker room.  And then my antibiotic caused a bit of gastrointestinal distress (as antibiotics often do to me) which was…embarassing.  Good thing the locker room usually smells of lavender.  Instead of the “hot campground shower house” smell that one would only expect from an episode of these proportions. 

Sidenote:  We’ve heard my theory right?  Well, it’s not MY theory but one that I fully support.  The theory is this: Every conversation, gone on long enough, will go back to poop and pee.  This conversation?  Has reached that point.  You’re welcome.

So, I’m just about late to class.  And haven’t changed.  And then my heart rate monitor wouldn’t read.  Because I know my heart is better than 33BPM.  I fill my water bottle and jump on the scale.  Just for kicks.

I didn’t expect much and I wasn’t going to get on at all.  Something about this last fever has made me ravenous.  Starving.  Despite feeling like I swallowed a burning porcupine, I only felt better when I was actually ingesting something.  Anything. 

I’ve lost another 1.3 pounds.  For a grand total of 11.4  so yea to me.

Maybe being sick burned more than I thought?  Because I was woozy walking to the bathroom.  Or getting up for another Girl Scout cookie.  At this rate, they will be gone before the weekend is over and that’s probably for the best.

Except for the tube of thin mints in the freezer.  That I am hoping to find in July when they will be much appreciated.

I got upstairs just as Molly was hollering for us to start.  Okay, she wasn’t hollering.  But there was no social hour for me.  My classmates all thought I was a slacker all week.  Until Molly asked me how I was feeling.  And said she was glad I was even there.  Awww…  You know, it’s nice to be missed.

But I was weak.  It was a Thursday workout which is 55 full minutes of treadmill hell.  Uphill.  And somebody turned off the air handlers.  Or so it felt.  Because there wasn’t anything moving at all up there.  No?  Maybe it was just me?  Weak.  I couldn’t keep up.  I tried.  Kind of.  I really did not even want to push myself.  And I couldn’t risk another antibiotic induced episode in the middle of the cardio floor.  Not on the floor.  But…you know what I mean. 

After half assing what the rest of the class was doing (kind of…it’s easy to see who cheats when you’re not seeing stars and all wrapped up in your own sweatiness…why would you cheat when you spent that kind of money to be there?  Wait?  Is this coming from someone who only went to 9 American History classes fall of senior year in college?  Yeah, sorry.)   Anyway, I tried to keep up for the first 10 minutes and then I put the treadmill on a 7 incline at a 2.8mph and walked.  Sometimes with weights.  Sometimes without.  Sometimes I held onto the sides for a while.  Sometimes I didn’t.  And when Molly caught me (because I am guilty most of the time) I would just look at her with a “what?” expression on my face. 

So there it is.  My return to the gym.  Hopefully, I can get back on track this weekend.  I need the mood lifter.  This winter is starting to get to me.  And, my birthday is in about 2 weeks.  It’s a “whole hand” birthday.  And I’m a little traumatized by this one.

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