If there ever was a day at fat camp that was wholly unremarkable, today was that day. Mondays are nutrition days so the workout is only half an hour (although I still managed to get to 400 calories in a half hour). It’s never an easy workout either. Molly figures that if she only gets 30 minutes that we ought to work very hard in that time.
Which is fine…except my hamstrings are strung tighter than I am these days. My glutes are responsible for my every step which gives me excellent, if painful, posture.
Truth is, my heart wasn’t into it. My heart hasn’t been into much which is somewhat ironic because it’s a day to celebrate hearts and love and all that. I shouldn’t be bugged by I am. Not that we ever did anything on Valentine’s Day which is what you get for being married to a restaurant man. We also weren’t blessed by much disposable income our entire time together so it wasn’t about flowers or candy or babysitters or nights on the town. And that was very much okay with me. I had what I wanted every day. Stephen’s birthday is also the day after. That would be tomorrow. He would have been 36. He is 36? I don’t really know how that works.
Add all these unproductive and grumpy thoughts to the littles tanked full of candy and the extra energy that a dose of spring brings and I almost can’t stand it.
There are just some days that are begging to be over. This may be one of them.
But my unique perspective on days is that this is nowhere near the worst. Which makes me feel bad for wanting it over.
On a positive note, I hauled my butt to the gym on Saturday and repeated my treadmill 5k. And I beat myself by almost 2 minutes. Last time was 50:02. This time was 48:04 and I wasn’t even trying all that hard. In fact, I got almost a mile into it and talked myself out of finishing. I was going to run the mile and then go and do something else. But then the mile passed and I couldn’t decide what else to do and I was only 200 calories into the workout. There was also some decent afternoon tv on, some kind of true crime thing on closed caption. I had to finish the case and find out if this girl was killed by her old man. (She was. I had pegged the nanny.) By that time I was a half-mile from the finish line. Any fool can make it a half mile. I never let myself look at the time, waiting until 3.11 miles came across the top to rip off the towel. 48:04. Probably still dead ass last but getting better and, honestly, knocking off two minutes with six weeks worth of work isn’t so bad. I might even be in fighting shape by May.
In May I will run my first outside, competitive 5k. Molly said she’d run it with me. Actually ‘with’ me and not just entered in the same race. By the time I finish, she’d be far into her first Mimosa of the morning.
Hold me to it, internets. I can’t allow an excuse to keep me from it.
In case you were wondering about this week’s nutrition advice, I don’t have any. I bagged out of nutrition. I try to take one thing out of nutrition each week and I just wasn’t feeling all that receptive. Stabby, yes, but I don’t think I could even have the energy to heckle. Not properly anyway. There’s always next week.
I hope your Valentine’s Day was better than mine.