I had to take last Thursday as a snow day (because I couldn't get out of my driveway
and even had I been able to do so, the subdivision road hadn't been plowed enough for a Prius to get through). I imagined I would do a workout in my home gym to make up for it, but that was just my imagination.
Running away with me.
I managed to do some cardio over the weekend (thanks to my trusty treadmill), but didn't get my 1.5 hours a day in. That still seems like a lot to me - I need to start thinking of it like three thirties - I mean, it's not like I have anything else that absolutely has to be done!
Today was my first day back in the gym in a week, and I think Tom the Trainer took it personally because he kicked my butt. He's a fan of interval training, or supersets.
We sometimes do incline push ups, then step ups (five sets of either twenty five or he times me for what seems like an eternity), then planks and real push ups and squats, then lat pull downs, then twists and kicks, then punching bag, then bicep curls and tricep dips, then... well you get the picture. For 45 minutes straight.
And we don't do girly weights, either. I don't think he has a dumbbell in that gym that is less than 12 pounds. For the lat pulldowns we started at FIFTY. POUNDS. I told him this morning that his confidence in my ability to actually finish those sets (granted, he's helping on the fourth and fifth) inspires me to want to finish. It makes me feel this strong:
After the 45 minutes of weight training, Tom will set me up either on a treadmill or elliptical or bike, with instructions on how to do intervals. Today it was treadmill starting at 2 incline, then every minute increasing the incline up two more degrees, so at one minute going to 4, at two minutes to 6, and so on up to 12, then back down, then back up for thirty minutes. I managed to get to 12 twice and felt my heart was pounding out of my chest and thought I was going to puke, so I worked up and town to 10 for the remaining 30 minutes. Is that quitting?
I got into a bad habit toward the end of last year's racing days - I told myself it was okay to walk more than I had either planned or trained to do, and as a result I ended up with some pretty lousy times, even on 5Ks. I also ended up listening way too much to the quitter in my head (her name is Nikki), who disguises herself as a hedonist: "Go ahead and slow down, you deserve it, you've worked hard. Another hill? Baloney, let's walk. Life's short." It's hard to stop quitting once you start. That's not going to happen to me again.
Yes, I'm sore. In a good way. In a strong way. I love this feeling.
Stats: Down 2.0 pounds (notice a gain there from last week?) and up .3 in body fat percentage (wha?). I figured out how to use the calipers, but I want to practice a few more times before I start relying on it. Of course it's a higher number than my scale BF percentage which is a disincentive, but I shall persist.
Hm. And when I sat down to write this, I didn't think I'd have anything to say.
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