It's been a particularly horrendous day. Temper tantrums every time I turn around. After 24 hours without any sort of potty-mishap, T peed and pooped in her pants within 10 minutes of each other. While I cleaned her up, Charlie found the vat of vaseline and started eating it.
Whine, whine.
But it hasn't all been bad. First of all, I rocked Zumba today. I picked the two best people in the class to follow and just tried to keep up with them. It was really fun, even though I'm sure I looked like an idiot. (Given my pathetic lack of rhythm, I try to only Zumba at classes where I don't know anyone else.)
Then, I went to pick the kids up at childcare. The teacher handed me Simon's stack of papers and I flipped through them, pulling out one that said "Josephine" and set it on the counter. Next thing I knew, a little girl snatched it up and handed it back to Simon. IT HAS HER PHONE NUMBER ON IT.
Oh my. I hope Josephine's not waiting by the phone because my five-year-old will not be calling her any time soon.
PS, I planned on "retiring" Simon from my blog when he turned five, but I just couldn't keep this story to myself. Sorry.
Showing posts with label working out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label working out. Show all posts
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Healthy Living - a rant.
I swear it wasn't a new year's resolution, so much as an impending deadline that caused me to make some changes in my life. They included "healthier" eating and a focused commitment to working out.
Before you get all huffy with me about my body image, let me admit that I know I am vain and shallow. I also realize that I'm not fat, and I don't think I'm fat. I am, however, what some might term "fat-skinny," which means I'm a fat person trapped into a skinny person's body. Like, basically I eat crap and am completely out of shape but I let myself off the hook because I'm sort of slim. I was okay with that until I started morphing into "fat-kind-of-skinny," and then into "fat-used-to-be-skinny."
So, in September, I started working out. I started going to classes so that I wouldn't fall into my usual fitness rut of gingerly tapping on the elliptical until I started to sweat and then hopping off with self-satisfied smugness. Fully aware of my limitations, I didn't attempt to factor good eating habits into my new routine. I told myself that I was "preparing my body" for being healthy. Haha - doesn't that sound genius?
Really, I just knew my will power was no match for Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas.
I promised that in January I'd kick it into gear.
Why? Because in March, Ben and I are getting on a plane and heading to Hawaii for an early celebration of our 10th anniversary. (Yes, my very important husband leaves me too much for his job, but I've been a supportive wife and my reward is that all those frequent flier miles are paying for my vacation.) I'm so excited that I'm already sad it's going to be over.
I have one goal in mind: to look good on the beach. Yes, shallow and vain, right here. Blah blah, I know, I know. But really, there was a day where I did look good in a bikini. Not, not bad, but good. I'd show you pictures to prove it, but that's just creepy. And I've had babies, nursed them and just as I was getting my body back to normal tried to induce lactation for adoption. (Unsuccessful, by the way.) All that to say, my fat-skinny body just got a little.... not sure the word for it, but "lumpy" comes to mind as does "droopy," "sad," and "squishy."
It's February, and I have to say I've been doing pretty well. I've made some good choices. I stopped going to senior-citizen water aerobics and started focusing on exercise more likely to make a caloric impact. I met with the fitness counselor at the Y and came up with a game plan. I even let her measure me and pinch me with those horrible, horrible fat pinchers. She jiggled them to "separate the fat from the muscle," or "separate my dignity from my soul," not sure which. It turns out that I've made progress, but have "very poor" flexibility, so I've even gone to yoga. (once.)
I've cut out snacks and desserts... well you know, except on "special occasions," like birthdays and tuesdays. I've avoided the doughnut tray at church, which might be my arch-nemesis. I've eaten an inhumane amount of oatmeal for breakfast while I flip chocolate chip pancakes for the kids.
But, here it is, February 3 and I can feel myself falling off the wagon. It's cold out and I'm sick and my kid's school keeps canceling and hummus just isn't cutting it. I've spent a large amount of my discretionary "Susie Envelope" on Diet Cokes at McDonalds (because since "I don't drink Diet Coke" I don't buy it at the grocery store). I baked cinnamon rolls yesterday and I can't keep my mitts out of them.
Ugh.
Then, this magazine came in the mail:
Doesn't it make healthy eating look yummy and fresh and modern and even pretty? Like I could just make myself a cute smoothie, stick an avocado slice in it, and enjoy my new lifestyle? Well, I settled in with that magazine today and let me tell you, now I'm really discouraged. This magazine, along with Dr. Oz and freaking Oprah, tell me that I actually need to rid myself of Diet Coke, along with all that is yummy and eat things that don't taste good.
Then, they take a pretty picture of it so I'll think that it'll be fun.
Well, I'm too smart for that. I've watched the Food Network shows on Food Stylists and I know that pretty food is not necessarily yummy food.
I need encouragement, so you need to comment, but there are rules:
Before you get all huffy with me about my body image, let me admit that I know I am vain and shallow. I also realize that I'm not fat, and I don't think I'm fat. I am, however, what some might term "fat-skinny," which means I'm a fat person trapped into a skinny person's body. Like, basically I eat crap and am completely out of shape but I let myself off the hook because I'm sort of slim. I was okay with that until I started morphing into "fat-kind-of-skinny," and then into "fat-used-to-be-skinny."
So, in September, I started working out. I started going to classes so that I wouldn't fall into my usual fitness rut of gingerly tapping on the elliptical until I started to sweat and then hopping off with self-satisfied smugness. Fully aware of my limitations, I didn't attempt to factor good eating habits into my new routine. I told myself that I was "preparing my body" for being healthy. Haha - doesn't that sound genius?
Really, I just knew my will power was no match for Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas.
I promised that in January I'd kick it into gear.
Why? Because in March, Ben and I are getting on a plane and heading to Hawaii for an early celebration of our 10th anniversary. (Yes, my very important husband leaves me too much for his job, but I've been a supportive wife and my reward is that all those frequent flier miles are paying for my vacation.) I'm so excited that I'm already sad it's going to be over.
I have one goal in mind: to look good on the beach. Yes, shallow and vain, right here. Blah blah, I know, I know. But really, there was a day where I did look good in a bikini. Not, not bad, but good. I'd show you pictures to prove it, but that's just creepy. And I've had babies, nursed them and just as I was getting my body back to normal tried to induce lactation for adoption. (Unsuccessful, by the way.) All that to say, my fat-skinny body just got a little.... not sure the word for it, but "lumpy" comes to mind as does "droopy," "sad," and "squishy."
It's February, and I have to say I've been doing pretty well. I've made some good choices. I stopped going to senior-citizen water aerobics and started focusing on exercise more likely to make a caloric impact. I met with the fitness counselor at the Y and came up with a game plan. I even let her measure me and pinch me with those horrible, horrible fat pinchers. She jiggled them to "separate the fat from the muscle," or "separate my dignity from my soul," not sure which. It turns out that I've made progress, but have "very poor" flexibility, so I've even gone to yoga. (once.)
I've cut out snacks and desserts... well you know, except on "special occasions," like birthdays and tuesdays. I've avoided the doughnut tray at church, which might be my arch-nemesis. I've eaten an inhumane amount of oatmeal for breakfast while I flip chocolate chip pancakes for the kids.
But, here it is, February 3 and I can feel myself falling off the wagon. It's cold out and I'm sick and my kid's school keeps canceling and hummus just isn't cutting it. I've spent a large amount of my discretionary "Susie Envelope" on Diet Cokes at McDonalds (because since "I don't drink Diet Coke" I don't buy it at the grocery store). I baked cinnamon rolls yesterday and I can't keep my mitts out of them.
Ugh.
Then, this magazine came in the mail:
Doesn't it make healthy eating look yummy and fresh and modern and even pretty? Like I could just make myself a cute smoothie, stick an avocado slice in it, and enjoy my new lifestyle? Well, I settled in with that magazine today and let me tell you, now I'm really discouraged. This magazine, along with Dr. Oz and freaking Oprah, tell me that I actually need to rid myself of Diet Coke, along with all that is yummy and eat things that don't taste good.
Then, they take a pretty picture of it so I'll think that it'll be fun.
Well, I'm too smart for that. I've watched the Food Network shows on Food Stylists and I know that pretty food is not necessarily yummy food.
I need encouragement, so you need to comment, but there are rules:
- No telling me I'm skinny. Whatever. It's my white tummy and tushy that are going to be bared on the beach, so we'll just let me decide, mmmkay?
- No encouraging me to eat a jar of icing. (you know who you are!) The temptation is already too great.
- Recipes would be reallllly helpful.
- Only yummy recipes.
- No telling me to stop drinking Diet Coke. I'm trying, really, and I'm not easily scared by stories of chemicals. If it hasn't worked on hot dogs and Taco Bell, it's not going to work on Diet Coke.
- Feel free to remind me how many days are left until my March 20 vacation and that spring really is coming.
Thanks. What would I do without you?
Monday, September 27, 2010
My sixty-year-old exercise regimen
We've "relocated." Not our home, but I've been trying to move our "life" back into our home community. You see, for years we've lived in one town, worked in another, gone to church somewhere else, and sent Simon to school, worked out and hung out in yet another neighboring town. Which means, 8 years later, we knew exactly 2 of our neighbors and exactly 0 other residents of our town.
All of that is a really long explanation as to why I quit my cushy hip gym and signed up with our local YMCA. Cushy and hip it is not, but it is local, and that's what we're going for. Oh how I miss catching up on Bravo re-runs while I'm sweating though. Our town (which I like to refer to as The Born) has a decidedly different culture than our former hang-out town (let's call it The Creek). The Creek is comfortably upper-middle class, filled with comfortable cushy-ness. The culture in The Creek is slightly more sophisticated the culture of The Born. I thought this would be no big deal, but it's turned out to have made me squeamish a time or two.
Like, for instance, the first time I worked out in The Born, I looked around and discovered I was one of only a few people not exercising in pajamas. Most of the others were wearing black velcro sneakers, giving you the idea that I was also at least 20 years younger than most of the others in the room. I'm not complaining.... I even got to help a sweet old lady use a vending machine and twist the cap off of her soft drink.
When it comes to exercise, I've learned a few valuable lessons over the years. Number 1: It is foolish to think I will exercise at home. That would involve getting up early (which would be dumb) or exercising during prime time (also dumb). Number 2: When left to my own devices, I will only work out until I'm a tiny bit fatigued, and then I'll look for a distraction. Since my new gym is lacking in distraction, I found myself wandering aimlessly around the fitness center wondering what I'll look like when I'm 65.
No working out at home and no working out on my own = group exercise class.
The problem in The Creek was that I was way too self-conscious to do group exercise class. When I say I have zero rhythm, I actually mean I have negative 10 rhythm. I am also lacking in balance and the ability to differentiate between "left" and "right," so aerobics is pretty much an embarrassment. But at The Born, I am surrounded by a different clientele, and I decided that I'm not going to let sweet old people shame me into not working out.
So, I go to whatever class they offer at 9 am on weekday mornings. So far, it's been step intervals (not too bad), turbo kick (which is pretty much hip-hop and exposes my horrendous rhythm), and zumba (oh my, that is mortifying). Oh, and water aerobics.
The hour I spent in water aerobics this morning was just bizarre.
I kept waiting for someone to tell me that the minimum age for participation was 60, but no one did, so I jumped in the pool. I felt completely self-conscious (but admittedly it's been a while since I felt so young and perky). It was actually a pretty good workout that I was huffing and puffing through by the end.
You may be asking how is that a reasonably fit (okay, let's just be honest and call it "non-sedentary") person could be wheezing through a workout that her elderly classmates do several times a week. Well, I guess one of the advantages of being underwater is that no one can see if you're actually doing it or not. And, I'm not trying to throw my fellow aerobicizers under the bus, but I think some of them may not have been exactly pushing themselves.
Not that it's entirely their fault. The instructor spent a lot of the time trading recipes for Buckeyes, Thanksgiving pies, and talking about her favorite doughnuts. Talk about demotivating. All I wanted to do was hop out of the water and find the nearest Krispy Kreme.
Again, I am not complaining. If I wanted intense, I could have stayed at The Creek, where I would still be too scared to join in. Clearly, this program is more of a social club than a training program, and isn't "local community" kind of what I was looking for? Maybe next time I'll just bring my favorite pumpkin pie recipe and show those ladies what I've got!
All of that is a really long explanation as to why I quit my cushy hip gym and signed up with our local YMCA. Cushy and hip it is not, but it is local, and that's what we're going for. Oh how I miss catching up on Bravo re-runs while I'm sweating though. Our town (which I like to refer to as The Born) has a decidedly different culture than our former hang-out town (let's call it The Creek). The Creek is comfortably upper-middle class, filled with comfortable cushy-ness. The culture in The Creek is slightly more sophisticated the culture of The Born. I thought this would be no big deal, but it's turned out to have made me squeamish a time or two.
Like, for instance, the first time I worked out in The Born, I looked around and discovered I was one of only a few people not exercising in pajamas. Most of the others were wearing black velcro sneakers, giving you the idea that I was also at least 20 years younger than most of the others in the room. I'm not complaining.... I even got to help a sweet old lady use a vending machine and twist the cap off of her soft drink.
When it comes to exercise, I've learned a few valuable lessons over the years. Number 1: It is foolish to think I will exercise at home. That would involve getting up early (which would be dumb) or exercising during prime time (also dumb). Number 2: When left to my own devices, I will only work out until I'm a tiny bit fatigued, and then I'll look for a distraction. Since my new gym is lacking in distraction, I found myself wandering aimlessly around the fitness center wondering what I'll look like when I'm 65.
No working out at home and no working out on my own = group exercise class.
The problem in The Creek was that I was way too self-conscious to do group exercise class. When I say I have zero rhythm, I actually mean I have negative 10 rhythm. I am also lacking in balance and the ability to differentiate between "left" and "right," so aerobics is pretty much an embarrassment. But at The Born, I am surrounded by a different clientele, and I decided that I'm not going to let sweet old people shame me into not working out.
So, I go to whatever class they offer at 9 am on weekday mornings. So far, it's been step intervals (not too bad), turbo kick (which is pretty much hip-hop and exposes my horrendous rhythm), and zumba (oh my, that is mortifying). Oh, and water aerobics.
The hour I spent in water aerobics this morning was just bizarre.
I kept waiting for someone to tell me that the minimum age for participation was 60, but no one did, so I jumped in the pool. I felt completely self-conscious (but admittedly it's been a while since I felt so young and perky). It was actually a pretty good workout that I was huffing and puffing through by the end.
You may be asking how is that a reasonably fit (okay, let's just be honest and call it "non-sedentary") person could be wheezing through a workout that her elderly classmates do several times a week. Well, I guess one of the advantages of being underwater is that no one can see if you're actually doing it or not. And, I'm not trying to throw my fellow aerobicizers under the bus, but I think some of them may not have been exactly pushing themselves.
Not that it's entirely their fault. The instructor spent a lot of the time trading recipes for Buckeyes, Thanksgiving pies, and talking about her favorite doughnuts. Talk about demotivating. All I wanted to do was hop out of the water and find the nearest Krispy Kreme.
Again, I am not complaining. If I wanted intense, I could have stayed at The Creek, where I would still be too scared to join in. Clearly, this program is more of a social club than a training program, and isn't "local community" kind of what I was looking for? Maybe next time I'll just bring my favorite pumpkin pie recipe and show those ladies what I've got!
Monday, November 16, 2009
Q: What could be crazier than me not washing my hair?
A: Me joining a gym.
You guys, I know. Shut up. I know I have an ellipitical machine and weights, and a certified personal trainer --- all living in my basement.
But, I'll go ahead and tell you what I really need to get over my hatred of exercise. I need the frou-frou stuff. The perks. I need something good on tv. And, I need someone to watch my kids, because I do not use my free time (naps) to do anything I don't love to do (work out, clean, read a boring book).
So, there's this gym. It's not the most convenient gym for me, but it's freaking awesome. It's huge. It has more cardio machines than Kroger has carts. It has a pool and spinning and classes and a basketball court. Ooooooh, and each of those cardio machines has its own cable tv.
It has a movie theater - different movie every day with exercise machines parked in front of it. In the dark, so that if you decide to just sit on the bike, rest your heels, and watch the flick, no one can really see you. I'm just saying, if.
It has childcare. We call it Playland. It's pretty awesome. Sy (my child that is just now coming out of a 4-year bout with separation anxiety) begs to go every day. It's like the playland at Chick-fil-a, but the kids are less chicken-y, and the toys get cleaned twice a day.
I've driven by this gym for a while now, coveting. Thinking, if I HAD to work out, that's where I would go. But, people, we can't afford that. Well, now I can. It costs me $30 a month to work out, watch cable, put my kids in childcare, take classes, and get some gosh-darn time to myself. I'd say that's more than worth it.
I'm now obsessed with working out (call it what you will, but that's what I call riding a bike and watching tv at the same time).
Being the cheapskate that I am, I am determined to make each and every cent worth it. I am taking advantage of everything they have to offer. I might start going twice a day to take advantage of both childcare hours.
I took a class today. It was called Urban Iron, and it was my first group exercise class EVER. I went to pick Taly up from Playland, and my arms turned to jello and I couldn't lift her. So, I guess I'm going to have to come up with a new strategy for that.
My next goals at the gym are to take advantage of Aqua fitness classes, and spinning classes. Spinning is just at a rough time for me to squeeze in, but I'm going to make it work one of these days. Aqua fitness sounds interesting to me, but the swimwear/waxing/shaving situation seems like it will take some advance preparation.
By the way, everyone, thanks for laughing with/at me and my hair-washing escapades. I have to report that I have gotten an abnormal amount of compliments on my hair lately. Shampoo works wonders.
You guys, I know. Shut up. I know I have an ellipitical machine and weights, and a certified personal trainer --- all living in my basement.
But, I'll go ahead and tell you what I really need to get over my hatred of exercise. I need the frou-frou stuff. The perks. I need something good on tv. And, I need someone to watch my kids, because I do not use my free time (naps) to do anything I don't love to do (work out, clean, read a boring book).
So, there's this gym. It's not the most convenient gym for me, but it's freaking awesome. It's huge. It has more cardio machines than Kroger has carts. It has a pool and spinning and classes and a basketball court. Ooooooh, and each of those cardio machines has its own cable tv.
It has a movie theater - different movie every day with exercise machines parked in front of it. In the dark, so that if you decide to just sit on the bike, rest your heels, and watch the flick, no one can really see you. I'm just saying, if.
It has childcare. We call it Playland. It's pretty awesome. Sy (my child that is just now coming out of a 4-year bout with separation anxiety) begs to go every day. It's like the playland at Chick-fil-a, but the kids are less chicken-y, and the toys get cleaned twice a day.
I've driven by this gym for a while now, coveting. Thinking, if I HAD to work out, that's where I would go. But, people, we can't afford that. Well, now I can. It costs me $30 a month to work out, watch cable, put my kids in childcare, take classes, and get some gosh-darn time to myself. I'd say that's more than worth it.
I'm now obsessed with working out (call it what you will, but that's what I call riding a bike and watching tv at the same time).
Being the cheapskate that I am, I am determined to make each and every cent worth it. I am taking advantage of everything they have to offer. I might start going twice a day to take advantage of both childcare hours.
I took a class today. It was called Urban Iron, and it was my first group exercise class EVER. I went to pick Taly up from Playland, and my arms turned to jello and I couldn't lift her. So, I guess I'm going to have to come up with a new strategy for that.
My next goals at the gym are to take advantage of Aqua fitness classes, and spinning classes. Spinning is just at a rough time for me to squeeze in, but I'm going to make it work one of these days. Aqua fitness sounds interesting to me, but the swimwear/waxing/shaving situation seems like it will take some advance preparation.
By the way, everyone, thanks for laughing with/at me and my hair-washing escapades. I have to report that I have gotten an abnormal amount of compliments on my hair lately. Shampoo works wonders.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Simon Says
I was going running* the other day, and being that it's hot and we're in the middle of nowhere, only around my relatives, I came out of the house wearing shorts and a sports bra. I pretty much look like I've had two babies, but pretty good considering. At least, that's how I thought I looked. Simon said,
"You look nice Mom."
Then, he touched my belly and said, "Why do you have stuff hanging out?"
Ouchie.
*I use the term running loosely, as I am still very much out of shape. By "run" I mean that I jog for a while before I dissolve into a panting heap and have to start walking. I go back and forth like that for a while. I call it "intervals" and convince myself that I'm on the cutting edge of fitness.
"You look nice Mom."
Then, he touched my belly and said, "Why do you have stuff hanging out?"
Ouchie.
*I use the term running loosely, as I am still very much out of shape. By "run" I mean that I jog for a while before I dissolve into a panting heap and have to start walking. I go back and forth like that for a while. I call it "intervals" and convince myself that I'm on the cutting edge of fitness.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Really Important and Relevant Updates
I hate to leave you hanging. I know you are just dying to know how things are going in regards to some of my previous posts. Here you go.
Ben is hunting today. For turkeys. I hope he doesn't get one because what the heck am I supposed to do with a turkey? Do homeless shelters take turkeys? Apparently my hunting post earned him quite a few offers to come try out some guns and today his dream is coming true. I hope he comes home in one piece, and without a dead turkey. Can you imagine what the sight of a dead turkey would do to my sweet son?
I am three days in to p90x... the new workout/hour of torture I've started with Ben. Now, not only do my legs hurt like heck, I can hardly raise my arms above my head. It's making lugging around a 20 pound child extra frustrating.
Ever wonder how "potty training" is going? Well, for the record, I am labeling Simon as officially potty trained. Let's face it - he has to be to get into pre-school. And he never, never has accidents. In fact, his "toilet control" is so advanced that he can still hold his poop for days as long as it means he doesn't have to sit on the potty. We have put the whole thing on official hiatus, and I'm praying he gets over his potty-poop-phobia before middle school.
And, because Ben's putting his life in danger this morning just so he can try to kill a large bird, and I love him so much, here's another snippet from our story - the first date.
Ben is hunting today. For turkeys. I hope he doesn't get one because what the heck am I supposed to do with a turkey? Do homeless shelters take turkeys? Apparently my hunting post earned him quite a few offers to come try out some guns and today his dream is coming true. I hope he comes home in one piece, and without a dead turkey. Can you imagine what the sight of a dead turkey would do to my sweet son?
I am three days in to p90x... the new workout/hour of torture I've started with Ben. Now, not only do my legs hurt like heck, I can hardly raise my arms above my head. It's making lugging around a 20 pound child extra frustrating.
Ever wonder how "potty training" is going? Well, for the record, I am labeling Simon as officially potty trained. Let's face it - he has to be to get into pre-school. And he never, never has accidents. In fact, his "toilet control" is so advanced that he can still hold his poop for days as long as it means he doesn't have to sit on the potty. We have put the whole thing on official hiatus, and I'm praying he gets over his potty-poop-phobia before middle school.
And, because Ben's putting his life in danger this morning just so he can try to kill a large bird, and I love him so much, here's another snippet from our story - the first date.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I miss Leslie
Remember Leslie? She and her team of bubbly mommies and grandmas giggling with me through a walking workout? I miss her.
All Ben wanted for Valentine's Day was p90X - yes, the one you see on the infomercials. Being the loving and supportive wife I am, I decided that since he never uses our weight set or our elliptical machine, he didn't need me to spend over $100 on an exercise DVD set with a nutritional guide included.
I finally caved. Because he's so handsome. And he doesn't judge me when I eat ice cream after walking with Leslie. But, I am cheap, so I bought him his DVD set off of ebay. It's totally bootleg, which goes against my strict ethical convictions on piracy, but what can I say - I'm a sucker and now the seller is no longer on ebay for me to take issue with.
Don't worry, though. The workout I just did (half of) is punishment enough for my copyright infringement.
I can't walk.
My legs are jello.
The sweat won't stop pouring out of my head.
This workout was hard. Hard. Crazy hard.
If I keep this up, I will be able to kick my brothers' butts in any Lake George competition this summer. But, that's a Big Fat If.
I'm pretty proud of myself, but I'm also pretty mad. Because that's the kind of workout that makes you feel like you should have lost 10 pounds by the time you're done. But I didn't!
Time for some ice cream - who's with me (Erica)?
All Ben wanted for Valentine's Day was p90X - yes, the one you see on the infomercials. Being the loving and supportive wife I am, I decided that since he never uses our weight set or our elliptical machine, he didn't need me to spend over $100 on an exercise DVD set with a nutritional guide included.
I finally caved. Because he's so handsome. And he doesn't judge me when I eat ice cream after walking with Leslie. But, I am cheap, so I bought him his DVD set off of ebay. It's totally bootleg, which goes against my strict ethical convictions on piracy, but what can I say - I'm a sucker and now the seller is no longer on ebay for me to take issue with.
Don't worry, though. The workout I just did (half of) is punishment enough for my copyright infringement.
I can't walk.
My legs are jello.
The sweat won't stop pouring out of my head.
This workout was hard. Hard. Crazy hard.
If I keep this up, I will be able to kick my brothers' butts in any Lake George competition this summer. But, that's a Big Fat If.
I'm pretty proud of myself, but I'm also pretty mad. Because that's the kind of workout that makes you feel like you should have lost 10 pounds by the time you're done. But I didn't!
Time for some ice cream - who's with me (Erica)?
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