There's something empowering about forcing yourself to work out even when your ass is dragging on the ground. This week has been crazy, bordering on the ridiculous: my kids had a wad of homework, I had a required curriculum meeting, plus I was partly responsible for campus literacy night, which had me at school or up working late several nights. Top that off with a field trip today, and you have me bordering on comatose by the time I got in the car at 4 PM. I had no intention of working out when I left school this afternoon. In fact, I had decided that I just might not do anything except lay on the couch. Then, about halfway home, I heard 'Chammak Challo' and thought to myself, "Let's just do it, damn it." By the time I made it home with my sons, I had psyched myself up for the ordeal.
When I walked in the front door, I didn't even bother to take off my work clothes. I just dropped my things, walked into the family room, turned on the YouTube, and queued up some Bhangra. So there I am, in blue jeans and a faculty shirt, sweating to a brutal Bhangra routine that I've never even tried before. It was bad-really, really bad. That shit is hard, people. Before I died of chafing and heat prostration, I changed into some workout clothes. Then it was 40 minutes of the revised BW Booty Shake with a Nilesh Zumba chaser. The situation didn't improve. Every step, every movement, I felt like I was slogging through molasses. You know that "runner's high" that people talk about? I think that's bullshit. Have I mentioned this before? I think that I have, and my position has not changed: at no point during this ridiculously painful workout do I say to myself, "Ahhhh...there we go. All of a sudden I feel fantastic."
But here's what does happen: I bully my way through this workout, and in the doing I find I am still alive, despite feeling like death the entire time. I realize that, for someone like me, a reasonably healthy person, being "too tired" to work out is a joke; just a thing I say in my bad head to excuse myself from doing what must be done. And so tonight, with no excuses in the way, I took my road less traveled: the right one.
Today, when I was weak, I was strong. That is my definition of success.
Breakfast - a latte (a moment of weakness)
Lunch - more of Karen's yummy chicken salad, 14 blueberries (I counted. Who knows why.), sugar-free vanilla pudding
Dinner - 3 Little Caesar's wings
Exercise - umm...see above, and where have you been?
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