Screamin’ Muscles

I’ve heard of those before.  I have.  I always thought it meant “ouch!” Mine don’t scream “ouch” or “watch it!” like I thought muscles did.  I just thought it meant that you really really really REALLY irked them and they bit back a bit.

Mine are screaming.  They are.  Unfortunately, my muscles do not have speech seasoned with salt or grace.  They’re swearing at me in several languages.  Hey, my muscles swear in tongues.  They try to be Christian I guess.  I say they fail.  They’re really ticked.

What, you thought I gave up?  I mean, Wednesday was the last time I posted about my workouts.  You did, didn’t you?  I don’t blame you.  Utter silence.

Well, my muscles weren’t, but I try to keep this a G… at worst PG rated blog.  My muscles’ language isn’t.

Thursday, we had company.  I was grateful.  Truly.  I was thrilled to death.  After all, it was a PERFECT excuse to sit on the couch and snuggle adorable twins, giggle with a fun little boy, and sing songs with the sweetest Rachael on the planet.  Friday I was still hobbling.  Seriously.  I had to have help getting out of the couch and let’s just say sitting on other things periodically throughout the day was um… TORTURE.  I took naps, tried to sleep with my arms freaking out on me, and then woke up Saturday.  Hobbling.  Not as bad, but sitting still hurt.  A bunch.  GRR.

Yesterday I felt much better.  I hardly hobbled at all really.  Maybe a step or two when first waking up or getting up but I don’t know if anyone but me noticed.  It was good.  I thought about going in for the treadmill only.  Then I got really tired, my stomach got upset, so I decided to take one more day off.  Yeah, I felt like a failure.  Three days on, four days off.  Even my government employee husband works four days a week!

I got up today– tired.  I went to bed late.  The stupid daylight thing messes with me badly.  But I got up and I went.  I lowered the pounds on some of the aparati (or is it aparatuses?).  If the trainer guy had to help me finish my repetitions last time, it went down five pounds.  I did one set wrong.  Had to redo them.  Yeah, that was fun.

I sweated my way through the treadmill, dying to stop (and worse than I ever had before!  I seriously wanted to quit).  Somehow I finished.  Somehow.  Day four.  I consider it a success.  I was faster, did it all myself, lowered things just a bit so that maybe I won’t die trying to sleep tonight, and so far I’m not screaming for a nap.

I learned something today though.  The machine has a big red “STOP” button for if you think you’re going to fall over or for whatever reason you might need to stop.  I found I had to stop looking at it.  It taunted me.  I wanted to obey.  I wanted to stop.  It danced in front of my eyes with its huge redness saying, “You know you want to.  So, I kept my eyes on the timer.  It ticked down too slow.  I kept them on the heart rate thingie.  Again, not helping.  I closed them, but with ear plugs I felt a bit unsteady with my eyes closed, so that didn’t work.

At last, I stared outside and walked as if I could actually reach the other side of the street.  It was kind of like one of those horrible dreams where you keep running but you don’t get anywhere.  Yeah.  Like that.  Except that I knew in my head there was an end, and I would get over there as soon as I got done.

My Facebook status today:
Dear Muscles,
I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
Prostrate (and I mean that literally),

Yeah.  That about sums it up.  Until tomorrow… assuming there is one…  Oh wait, it’s already tomorrow in Australia.  Dad burn it.