Wednesday morning 3am, still up from the night before, legs heavy from an hour of midnight racquetball, I just couldn't face the 4:45am day. I couldn't do it. Afternoon class was my fall back, even with the 100* weather prediction.
I weighed in today. I'm down 4 lbs. Slowly, but surely, something is working. It's not all curses, sweaty sports bras, and side cramps.
Wykoff Wednesday. Just when I thought we would remain on the grass in the shade doing plank push ups and tabletop crunches, she said "put your water in my backpack, we're running up Wykoff". I don't like Wykoff and it doesn't like me. "I don't wanna!!!" I wanted to yell, but I didn't. I just put my head down and looked at the ground and my feet. We had 10 minutes to get halfway up the hill all together before we would be disqualified and have to do it again.
Despite the sore muscles and the heaving in my chest, I made it up. Almost the last one, I found another asthma victim covered in tattoos crawling at a snail's pace. It's good not to be the most pathetic. Maybe it's the ink? It's like kryptonite for my stamina? Huh? Yeah? Good theory? No. Well, I tried.
Today just hurts and I just wanna cry. I wanna cry because it just shouldn't be this damn hard for me. Not at this age. I could cry, it would never show through the sunglasses. It would just look like more sweat pouring down my face.
But I'm almost halway through this month of bootcamp and I just won't give up. I won't. I can't. Five down, seven to go.
And PS, audience of the park today, I'm sorry about the large rip in the inner thigh of my stretchy pants. In the words of Nacho Libre: "Sometimes...we wear stretchy pants."
.JPG)
The adventures and confessions of a single girl, travel junkie, shopaholic, amateur photographer, prodigal scrapbooker, social drinker, public servant, sister, daughter, friend, klutz, and nap time professional who keeps looking for the hidden meaning in it all. These are the scenes from my life.
No need to worry, most fit looking people (including me) couldn't do it. You're still beatng up evereyone who's laying in the couch.
ReplyDeletequite possibly my favorite thing you've ever written:
ReplyDeleteDespite the sore muscles and the heaving in my chest, I made it up. Almost the last one, I found another asthma victim covered in tattoos crawling at a snail's pace. It's good not to be the most pathetic.