I love to exercise. I DO, I DO. Running is my prayer time (or story creation time, or dialogue tryout time, etc.); yoga recharges me like none other; and I relish the feeling I get after doing an awesome workout of any kind. So when some of my friends were preaching me the Jillian Michaels gospel, I went, "Huh, okay."
I only watched maybe one of two episodes of The Biggest Loser, but from what I gathered, Jillian was the hardass "MY GRANDMOTHER WHO'S BEEN DEAD FOR TEN YEARS HAS MORE SPRING IN HER STEP" type of trainer, which I'm not too keen on, even if she did show her soft side every once in a while. But my friends were sold on her 30 Day Shred video, so I checked it out on Youtube. I watched it once before doing it and thought, "Hey, I can do that. It doesn't look too hard." Mind you, there are three levels and I was watching Level 1.
I put on my stretchy pants, tennis shoes, and sports bra, grabbed my three & five pound weights, and nodded my head in determination.
Let's do this.
Okay, so twenty minutes of that KICKED MY ASS. I consider myself a fairly in-shape person, although my workout regimen as of late has been walking from the bus depot to my work (which, to be fair, is a decent walk) and taking Zola to the shitting/pissing area in my apartment complex. The things is, I didn't realize how badly it had kicked my ass until the next day. I was all, "Huh, they said I would feel it instantly and I'm feeling okay right now," directly after doing the routine. I was actually really energized and proud of myself.
The next day?
OH MY GOD, MY ARMS AND LEGS ARE KILLING ME.
Seriously. It was almost as bad as when I hurt my back and broke one of the tiny bones in my ankle within a week of each other earlier this year. I have been hobbling around like I have a stick up my ass. And today is day two after Deathmatch with Jillian. And I told myself that I was going to do this every other day for two weeks. So I have to do this again today. Sigh.
I'm going to die.