Day 10--Week 2, The Gym.

Okay. Went to the gym today, for the third time this week. Feeling very smug. This is IT! I'm DOING IT! I'm kicking some ASS! Yes! I think tomorrow I'll get up an hour early and go jogging and then come home and make G a three course breakfast and do all the laundry and clean the laundry room and do all the ironing and then go to the gym and then---

Wait. Stop. Stop me right there.

This is my problem. I tend to do the "all or nothing" thing, especially when it comes to improving myself. All I usually end up improving is how tired I am, how overwhelmed I feel and how many bags of Cheetos and cigarettes I can consume in one day. Then I get all pissy with myself and revert to the rut. (Click on the word rut to see exactly what that entails). It doesn't help, at least on the 'not going to over-do it at the gym' front that I only have six weeks in which to lose 20 lbs. so that I can stand next to Tina and Becky in Tahoe and not feel like the token fat chick.

So....calmly.....non-excitedly....not spastic at all...I went to the gym today. It was swimming day, which is my reward on Thursday if I've managed to make it through at least two cardio-and-weights sessions in the week. I love swimming day; I sit in the jacuzzi for a while, I swim some laps and reset my brain by blowing bubbles, I sit in the jacuzzi, I move to the sauna, I shower and put on comfy pants. It's a nice gym day. At least, it was today. Last Thursday, not so much.

See, Wednesday is legs day. Last Wednesday was the first time I've done legs in months. And me, being me, went whole hog on the quads, hams and glutes. Curling, lunging, doing some bizarre side leg-lift off a bench thing I saw a trainer showing some chick, calf raises, all of it. Ok, so I only did one set of each, knowing the mushy consistency of my muscles at present, but still. It was a good 45 minutes of grunting and quivering and trying not to pee. Then a half hour on the elliptical. I figured I was easing in, that if I only did one set I wouldn't be sore the next day.

Buzz! Wrong! I was not just sore the next day; I was jell-o girl. My legs hurt so much, I hobbled and waddled when I had to get somewhere. Any style of locomotion that didn't cause any muscles in my legs to have to contract was my preferred method. I figured I was well due that time in the jacuzzi.

So I hobbled to the car, wincing as I lifted each dead limb into the vehicle. I hobbled into the gym, trying to take actual strides so as not to look like an ass. Hobbled to the locker room to put on my swimsuit without bending my legs, hobbled to the jacuzzi, and melted into the perfectly hot water. Did not want to get out of the hot water, even when my internal temperature gauge started to whistle and yell at me that I was too warm. Finally dragged my now overheated ass out of the jacuzzi and hobbled to the pool, trying to do a cool jump into it but mostly just falling in when my legs gave out. Bobbed up to the surface, cursing and wheezing at the cold water. Did twelve whole laps. Mostly with my arms. Yep, you heard me. 12. Almost a third of a mile. I am destined for greatness.

Today I am not sore, which tells me I can move up to doing two sets of legs. I added three laps, making it an even half-mile (almost. It's a metric-standard conversion that I refuse to try to do in my head. Or a feet-yard-mile conversion. I dunno. I suck at math. I just round it off to 30 laps in a mile and call it good).

It felt good. Am now NOT going to reward self with the rest of the daughter's Halloween candy (I know I know, I need to just throw it out already) or a cigarette. Am now going to go write at least 500 words of what I hope is non-crap.