Why is it that as soon as you share with people that you’re losing weight it’s like you’re opening yourself to everyone’s opinions about everything fitness related, from sports bras to fiber???
I think it’s a convuluted way of showing support. Granted, cornering me at the door when I walk back into the office to ask me what I had for lunch is one heck of a way to show support…
I’ve listened to advice about fiber, stretching, workout frequency, sleep, flavored water vs/ non-flavored water, and the merits of hot yoga vs. cold yoga. One of my friends even took away my brownie!!!!! I take it all in stride with good humor though because I know it comes from a good place.
Or at least I DID… until Boyfriend decided to work out with me this weekend.
It all started with an epic fail on the part of my trainer – she cancelled on me at the last minute Saturday morning, leaving me at loose ends. Boyfriend thoughtfully stepped in to help me, suggesting that I workout with him during his routine.
What I remember most is sweat. And crying. And whining. And yelling expletives at Boyfriend every 5 seconds. I honestly can’t repeat here the hateful things that I yelled, for fear that WordPress will like, DELETE my blog. Seriously. It was pretty bad.
After collapsing into a perspiring heap (Southern girls don’t sweat darling, they perspire) and recovering from the workout from hell, I snapped when he told me I’d have to wait to have breakfast until AFTER we swam laps in the pool. This plan to wait to eat put the Trifecta of Evil into serious danger (I turn into a raving psychopath when I’m hungry, hot and tired all at the same time. I’d previously warned him. If he didn’t bother to heed the care instructions when taking on the Sunburnt Peach package that’s not my problem).
All told I recovered quite nicely from the miserable Saturday workout. Then Sunday came around and he made me do it again.
He kept telling me that my trainer would be even harder on me than he was!
By the time we were done, not only was there perspiration, crying and swearing, I was even swearing at the trainer on the program we were using as well as Casey the Roomie who was just an innocent bystander. I flipped him the bird – twice.
When Monday rolled around I was in PAIN. It hurt to sit, stand, breathe or scurry to the bathroom and pee. I whimpered while walking to the kitchen to make my cheerios and grunted everytime I lowered myself onto a chair or my toilet. I toddled around the office all day like I’d have a severe anal probe at the airport. People laughed. hmph.
After a weekend of training with Sgt. Meanie-Pants Trainer from Hell, I was flat out frightened of what my workout with my actualy trainer would be like. By the time I arrived at the gym, I was almost shaking in my shoes. Visions of Drill seargents blowing whistles were stuck in my head donned my sports bra and tennis shoes.
Ironically, today was not too bad. I say that with my fingers crossed, knowing that I will be seeing trainer lady at least twice a week for the next 8 weeks. The workout was challenging yet well paced, and she did a great job of explaining the whys of what I was doing.
I’m still sore, but no longer fearful that my trainer will channel the drill seargent from hell. I walked like the reluctant cowboy all day, but still felt pleased with my progress.
I can now sit on the toilet without falling. 🙂