Fat camp, week 9

Last Friday, I woke up after a particularly satisfying Thursday night out with the girls.  Drinks were good, laughs were excellent, the show was…meh.  But two out of three, right?  I woke up with the feeling of impending doom.  Or, mommy-gut.  Or Spidey-sense.  Call it what you want but something felt off.  Like I felt the need to get in touch with EVERYONE to make sure that all was well.

Today is Wednesday and the feeling hasn’t gone away.  But, so far, nobody has been called in dead or injured so I’m starting to think that I am the problem here.  I am in a funk.  I am starting to feel like May 2009 when my meds got upped.  You know, the meds that got replaced by clean living and exercise.  The meds I haven’t taken at all in almost a year. 

I don’t have anyone to blame.  Things are fine.  Things are clicking along like they are supposed to.  The littles are in good shape.  I got Amelia enrolled in preschool (again) for next year.  She in an official Pre-K class that meets four mornings a week.  So maybe my funk comes from the prospect of spending yet another year at home instead of out in the world?  I got a note from Ella’s teacher saying that Ella had completed learning all 100+ first grade sight words and priority words and she has been bumped to second grade words. Challenge words.  Her teacher also said that it is a huge accomplishment and that she is very proud of my Ella.  I am too.  Bursting with pride, in fact.

Spring is almost here.  We’ve dodged the last few spring snowfalls.  I am dreaming of putting in a garden, raking the yard, planting flowers.  The littles have been out on their bikes and scooters.  But ‘almost’ is the operative word here.  It’s still really cold at night and days are still pretty much dreary.  Maybe that’s it?

Fat Camp has reached week 9.  We are in the final stretch to the end.  There is talk about who is going on to the next class and who isn’t coming back.  I am taking a quarter (at least) off.  I learned my lesson last year.  I will wait and jump in maybe August or September.  Summers are too busy for that kind of committment.  Which isn’t to say that we won’t spend time there.  No, sir.  That is not the case.  In fact, once the pool is open, we are there probably six days out of seven.  It makes it easy to get in five workouts in a week.

Fat Camp Wednesdays are usually earmarked for interval training.  We used to get a tiny slip of paper with the work out on it and then you could go off into your own little world.  For most of this session, that hasn’t been the case.  Interval, yes.  But we haven’t been left with the responsibility of pacing ourselves and challenging ourselves.  And I’ve missed it.  Part of the reason is that the gym has been so stinking busy since the first of the year.  It is just now dying down and pleasantly so.  I don’t know if it was busier this year or if I was so wrapped up in not trying to die last year that I didn’t notice.  Probably the latter.

I love Wednesdays.  There’s always something different.  There’s a little freedom to sprint if you want to sprint or add more strength to the cardio.  Try a more difficult push up position or add a skip to a lunge (which I tried but my distinct lack of coordination made it almost impossible to get the actual exercise done correctly) (also, I felt ridiculous). 

It was just what I needed.  After five days of feeling stabby, I might actually be cured.  Until the next time, of course.  But, for now, I couldn’t have pulled myself out of this any other way.  I needed this workout.  I needed the self-esteem boost.  I needed to wear my new hot pink running shorts with the reflective piping and the shirt to match. 

Molly says “You look like a runner wearing all those bright colors.”

*snort*  Yeah.  I look like a runner with 40 extra pounds running around.

“Shut your mouth.”

Yep.  That’s just what I needed. 

I needed to run.  And sweat.  And crank up the itunes.  And be inspired by my classmates that are faster or more fit or more dedicated or stronger or whatever.  I needed to run. 

So I did.  I wanted to sprint so I knocked down my incline and turned up the speed.  I managed about 7.0 for a whole minute.  And I didn’t die.  And (most importantly) my dignity remained intact because I didn’t pee myself, fall off the treadmill or be forced to jump to the rails.  One whole minute.  Fast.  Really fast.  You know, for me. 

And it felt good.  I’ll probably pay for it tomorrow to the tune of sore feet.  But it felt good.  And I feel good. 

And tomorrow will be better.  My mommy-gut says so.  I just know it.

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