My body said “fuck you.”
The Husband and I recently began a get-in-shape regimen at the gym around the corner from our house. I’ve tried this a number of times before, but never stuck with it because there was nobody there to keep me honest. So we had our fitness assessments last week and the trainer at the gym put together individual plans for us. Both consist of upper body workouts on Mondays and Fridays, lower body on Wednesdays and cardio on Tuesdays, Thursdays and (optionally) Saturdays.
I’d been doing cardio for a couple of weeks, mostly stationary bike and elliptical for 40+ minutes and working toward an hour. The lower body on Wednesday left me a little twinge-y, but not terribly so. It was the upper body stuff I was dreading. Turns out the reality was far worse than what I’d imagined.
We’re doing this plan where we start with a set of 12 reps at a low weight, then 10 heavier, then 8 heavier, then 6 even heavier and a final burnout set of 24 of the lowest weight (the weights were calculated by the trainer and we both have different weights on the various machines). I finished pretty much everything except the chest stuff which I just couldn’t push through. While waiting for The Husband to finish, I checked Twitter on my cell phone and discovered that I sorta needed both hands to hold up my phone. On the short stroll home, we both commented on how we felt kinda numb and lifting our arms above shoulder-level wasn’t really an option.
Upon arriving home, we tooks showers. Shampooing was a bit of a struggle. Managed to phone my mom to offer condolences as she’d had to have one the horses euthanized that morning. Headed down to Harry’s Country Club for dinner with our pal Jay, had a couple of Boulevard Wheats and came home. Was still a little numb and twinging when I went to bed, but thought maybe I was going to be OK.
Not so much.
Woke up at 4am this morning hoping for death’s sweet release. The weight of the sheet on my arms was sheer torture and no matter which way I turned and tossed (an experiment in terror in and of itself), I couldn’t find a position in which I experienced anything resembling the remote memory of comfort. I got up and gimped downstairs, rummaged in the kitchen cabinet for some prescription ibuprofen and threw back 800mg and crawled back to bed. Still couldn’t get comfortable so I went back downstairs where the soft sofa provided some relief. I fell asleep and when I woke up around 6 the ibuprofen had finally kicked in reducing the shreiking pain to a dull ache. Felt normal enough to attend the Heart Walk with Scoots and a couple of bloody mary’s at the Classic Cup improved my condition even more.
So, I’m hoping tonight’s better, and I’m hoping tomorrow’s better still because come Monday, I get to do this all over again.
Getting fit’s a real bitch.