Oh! It’s Wednesday. I’m supposed to blog. OK then.
One of the things that contributes to the overall weirdness of my Wednesdays is that it’s the day I work out with my trainer. We get together from 6:30-7:30, then I bring home dinner and S and I eat in front of the Wednesday night Bravo programming, which was, until tonight, Top Chef Just Desserts. (WTF. Based on the limited window that this show offers, pastry chefs are insane. But woo hoo, Yigit!)
I’ve been working out with my trainer for I guess a year and a half. Lately, most of the workouts we do are based on cross fit. Cross fit workouts are real ass-kickers, which is great. Of course, when you do the workout by yourself, as I do, there’s less pressure to compete, and thus, push yourself. The actual cross fit program at the gym where I work out has an a.m. circuit and a p.m. circuit, and people work pretty hard to outdo each other. Sometimes there’s vomit. That’s so not my scene (see above: Top Chef Just Desserts).
Anyway. The great thing about one – or perhaps two – really challenging workouts a week is that I spend at least one day (usually Friday) incredibly sore, always with a different body part. Last week, for example, I ended up doing 120 pushups (12 cycles of 10, alternated with body weight squats and jumping pull-ups). I felt like I’d been punched repeatedly in the chest. One memorable time, my trainer had me do Turkish get-ups with an 18-lb kettlebell. My…I don’t know – lats? – were sore for days. Tonight I did a bunch of dead lifts (95 lbs – my trainer was all, You can handle more, but I whinged about how challenged I felt and she let me slide. Woot!). That means that come Friday, I’ll be hobbling along with blown-out hamstrings.
When the time comes, I will inevitably complain, but I am actually quite pleased about it. I’m pretty good overall about working out, but actually pushing myself is another matter. I almost never feel it when I run. If I pushed myself to go faster or farther, sure, but it’s hard to break out of the pattern of a comfortable three-miler. Instead of faster/farther, I’m still fixated on gait and shoes. I will get this barefoot thing going eventually.
And when I do…there will be blogging.