This morning, I convinced Anna (it didn't take much) to try out a new class at the gym with me. I don’t know who the hell Les Mills is (okay, yes, I do, I googled his ass right after my class), or why he has a sick desire to kick people's asses to music, but holy freaking shit, did Bodypump kill me!
Secretly, I loved it.
This was a sixty-minute class of fast-action lifting with light weights. I tell you what, those weights don't feel very light when you're doing sets of 16-20! I was shaking, I was sweating, and I was in hell. Perfect. This is what I've been missing. I love to lift weights. I love to see results. I'm not very good at pushing myself, hence, why working with Robyne was so great…she wouldn’t let me quit! And, I didn’t want to let her down…which was probably all in my head, but whatever, it worked for me! I do, however, love a group class. Maybe some day I'll be an instructor. Haha, one goal at a time.
At the end of the class, my whole body was jello. I knew then that I'd be sore tomorrow. It's been nine hours since the class got out, and walking down the stairs is already a little painful. I will go back next week for that torturous heaven!
Walking out of the gym, I thought, "I'm back!"
It sucks to think how far my strength and endurance has slipped, but it is really good to still have a great feeling about lifting! Now if only I could find a love for running. I mean, is that genetic? How do people just love to run? Ugh. It can't be something you acquire…can it? Fuck, what if it is? Have I just wished myself into being a runner? I guess it's literally something to take one step at a time…aaaaand cue my cheesy English-teacher puns.
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Yesterday was the weigh-in at school. After eating all day (on purpose…I wanted to start big, then digest and automatically be lighter!), drinking half a gallon of water, and being fully (and heavily…I was strategic in my outfit-selection that day!) dressed, I stepped on the scale. Let me preface this by saying that I'm pretty sure the scale at school is demonic. If not demonic, then at least a liar. Last year during the biggest loser challenge, I'd weigh myself at home (in the buff, of course...no need to make the scale higher than necessary), and by the time I got to school, I had gained at least five pounds. I mean, are clothes really that heavy? Maybe…but that's not the point.
I weighed 163.8 pounds. My heart sunk. That's 0.2 away from my starting weight before my training. This morning, I weighed myself at home and was a, much better, 155.4 pounds. I'm willing to work with that.
So, today, I've drunk my 64 ounces of water and am working on more. I've also added and started the "myfitnesspal" app on my phone so my sister, who lives in California, and I can track each other's progress. AND, I've re-vamped my meal plan from last year to be more realistic for everyday living.
It's shocking how motivating one little kick-your-ass workout can be. I hope I can keep it up. The plan is to meet Anna at the gym again tomorrow. I won't be sleeping in and there will be no excuses.
I really want this to be the start of life-long happiness in my body and the start of a healthy lifestyle. Screw that. This IS the start of the health and contentment that will be with me for the rest of my life. No ifs, ands, or buts.
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