Wednesday morning was a bad morning for me. On Tuesday night, shortly after ingesting some delicious pasta and wine, I realized I had not packed my gym bag for the next day. Then I noticed I didn’t have any clean sports bras. Again? Really? I don’t know where they are all going.
I threw some laundry in the washer right before bed. My washer came with the house we are renting. It takes forever to wash and the spin cycle sounds like a jet engine taking off. I told myself I could get up early, put my stuff in the dryer, and do some household chores while my clothes dried.
I woke up early and starting going purging my closet. It’s that time of year again to switch my summer wardrobe over to a winter one. Goodbye muffin top shorts, hello loose-fitting sweaters. I also go through and select clothing to donate. I have made my mind to actually get rid of clothes that don’t fit me anymore. If I ever am a size medium again, it’s just another excuse to go shopping. I console myself with this thought as I toss out some really cute stuff. These lucky bitches at Goodwill have been getting my clothes for years.
I was getting really into it and watching the clock for when would be a good time to leave for the gym, then I realize I forgot to put those clothes in the dryer. Shit. I see the LA gear sports in the Goodwill pile. Wow, someone’s going to be really thrilled to get that sweat-stained torn garment. I really should throw that away. Anyway, there is no way I’m wearing that thing.
So, I decided that I would just have to get up really early on Thursday and Friday. That is my punishment for not being prepared.
My Thursday morning alarm goes off at 6:30, and it is colder than hell in my room, but the bed is so warm. I pull my cell phone from underneath my pillow, reset the alarm for eight, and roll over to my very warm husband. Looks like the fatty voice wins today.
Then, something amazing happened. My conscience spoke up.
So, this is the point where you quit. It happens all the time and this is how it starts. Get your lazy ass out of bed.
My conscience actually won. I got out of bed and got to the gym. I walked in and the place is nearly deserted. This is the first time I’ve gone on a Thursday morning and it’s apparently not a very popular day. It just became my new favorite. There were empty spaces as far as the eye could see.
I got on my favorite treadmill in the back corner, can’t be too careful. I am still on the interval that has me running for 90 seconds, walking for 90 seconds, then running for three minutes, then walking for three minutes, then repeat. I have succeeded only once.
Right away, I felt very strong. My first minute in a half was not making me very tired. It still felt like part of a warm up. My three minute run was challenging, but doable. I was still horribly out of breath, don’t get me wrong, but I was breathing effectively and working through it.
I was trying all the tricks today. I was staying loose, because just angrily pounding at the treadmill tenses up my body and makes me tired. I was bargaining with myself to not look at the clock: I can’t look at the clock until Godsmack says Bad Religion. I was concentrating on my breathing. I found that I hold my breath sometimes when I’m putting forth a lot of effort.
On my last three minutes, I decided to step it up a notch. I select my Rob Zombie list and pound it out. Ninety seconds slowly tick by, and my body goes into quit mode. No, I can’t quit. It’s only a minute and a half for God’s sake. I lengthen my stride and try to breathe as deeply and evenly as possible. My legs are burning, my face is on fire, and the back of my neck is pouring sweat into my hair. Nothing about this feels good, except finishing.
And finish I do. I walk a few minutes to even out the clock (a small obsession of mine) and stride toward an elliptical. Instead of going to work feeling like a failure, I’m going to feel like a champion all day. I have not felt a win in a long time, and I’m ready for another.
Apparently not ready enough. Today is Friday and the fatty voice won. I had a work function last night and got introduced to the high life. The Miller High Life to be exact. I came home and made tailgating food. This kept me up until almost midnight. Really, seriously, better fuel and sleep is what my body needs, and I have to make a conscious effort to do both.
But not this weekend, I have to get into my Snooki costume. Jersey Shore Bitches!
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