I may or may not have gone 4 full days without stepping foot in the gym.
I may or may not have grilled (and eaten) my own birthday T-Bone steak (local and grass-fed, of course).
And I may or may not have seen the number on the scale move. Ever so slightly.
But I’m not a total slackass. Despite missing fat camp on Monday (Ella had her Kindergarten vocal music concert Monday night.) (She pulled her dress over her head only once.), I asked Molly for a PT session on Tuesday morning.
I woke up with a bit of dread. I knew that my edible transgressions would come back to haunt me.
I don’t have anything to hide from Molly. She has found, and read, my journal of Fat Camp. Everybody say Hi to Molly! (Hi, Molly!)
The workouts, all of them, have been so very difficult since I had to take a few days off because of the strep throat. I realize that this is mental mostly. My lungs don’t burn. I can’t hardly walk tonight but that’s almost to be expected.
And maybe it’s boredom. You’d think that with 2 days worth of music on my ipod, I could find something inspiring. Turns out that I possess the most complete collection of moody guitar and vocals known to man. Have you ever tried to run to a Jack Johnson song? Or Norah Jones? It doesn’t work so well.
I’ve switched to This American Life. It at least gives my brain something to think about other than “Ow, ow, burning, seriously it’s been only 30 seconds?”
Which is exactly what my mind says during a PT session.
The good thing about training with Molly is that she knows what I can do. That’s also the bad thing. And the reason why I get away with nothing….not even a little sandbagging here and there. There is no holding on to the treadmill. Or cutting corners on crunches. There is no hiding behind the 7 pound weights when she knows good and well that I can do 20.
She beats the ever living crap out of me.
Torture device du jour: a towel.
Meet the towel-in. Put a towel on a hard and shiny surface. Stand on it. Drop to your knees and assume a push up position, keeping your toes on the towel. To clarify, this is a boy push up position and not the sissy ones I usually do. Now pull your legs into your body, sliding your toes on the towel. And push them back. Times 10.
I could barely finish the second set. I had to stop and stretch for a second. But I finished. And now? My ass.
There’s this spot just under my butt cheeks that feels bruised. Like when my ungainly self bumps into something sharp. But it’s on both sides.
I informed Molly of my unfortunate ass ache today.
Her response? “Oh good. That means you did your squats correctly.”
And I was hoping for a reprieve. Just a little.
To quote her response to my whining, “If that’s what you wanted then you picked the wrong trainer.”
My answer? Very quietly. No. I picked the right trainer.
Next week, at this time, we will have to do our 30 minute treadmill test. Run/jog/walk or whatever for 30 minutes and record distance. The goal is to cover more ground than 6 weeks ago. I’d like to think that this will be no problem but I am doubtful. I feel stronger than 6 weeks ago but not faster.
What I really feel like is that I need a full body support stocking. Like the kind you get in the hospital when you are having surgery so that you don’t stroke out from a blood clot. I think I might run faster if I wasn’t concentrating on what the pounding and gravity is doing to my bouncy fleshy parts. And, for once, I am not talking about my giant McBoobs. I am talking about the skin that’s a wee bit loose around my middle. And my toes that continue to fall asleep. And the hair that I was going to grow out that may have to be shorn because the thickness is making me hot, hot, all the time, hot.
Does this ever end? Even when (if? because I am doubtful) I get to the number that I want to see, will I continue to pick myself apart? And make excuses?
Will I be able to walk the day after a workout? Without looking like I need a cane?
Will I graduate from Fat Camp? And have the motivation to continue on my own? Because I’m here to tell you that if I was not doing this class, my gym attendance would be totally not worth the price of admission. Even with the free child care. And the aromatherapy steam room.
I am more than 9 weeks into this. You’d think that after 9 weeks, this would become a life change.
And maybe it is and I don’t know what change looks like.