One of the reasons I've been a lot quieter on the blog front for the past month is Call of Duty 4
(actually, let's be honest; that's one of the ways I've chosen to spend a lot of my free time since Christmas). However, at the beginning of July, I added a new reason: I started taking a class two days a week at the local new YMCA.
This class has been kicking my butt, but it's been good for me. Our main teacher -- we'll call him PT -- is a doctor and can't always be there. If that happens, we have a backup teacher (named ST). Over the past couple of weeks, I've seen a lot of ST, and his warmups usually have me breaking a good sweat. Well, PT was back tonight...and oh my GOODNESS, he is a LOT more grueling. I actually got dizzy and had to step out for a minute. My shoulders hurt, my legs hurt, my arms hurt, all in that "OMGWTF you did WHAT to us???" way that really lazy muscles get.
I do not like this. I do not like barely having enough energy to drive home, eat, and make it through a shower. I do not like being this out of shape. It seems that PT doesn't like it either, and he's determined to help me fix all these things. It's a good thing I'm tired of being slothful and rotund; I know that, left to my own devices, I would never drive myself this hard. The class is small and I like the other students, enough so that my poor body image is outweighed by my desire to not look like a complete wuss in front of these people. And they have been very helpful and supportive.
I guess I get to continue this course of action. The only way out: make there be less of me, so that it doesn't hurt so bad when PT gets his hands on me. I've even started noticing that I'm cutting down on the snacks and treats at work and at home -- I look at them and find myself thinking about how they're going to make PT's next workout that much harder.
Yay for progress?
