Have I mentioned that I have started working out again? No? Well, maybe because the first day I got back into the gym, I met with the sadistic, evil trainer from hell whose only purpose in life is to ensure that I am unable to function at an age level of anything less than 103 for 3 days following meeting with him. Oh yes, Daniel is a charmer.
“One more set.”
“Hell, no. I can barely move.”
“Which means you can do one more set. If you can still move, you can still work-out.”
“Does that include beating the crap out of you, Daniel?”
I was so proud of myself for getting in a good workout a couple of times last week. I also drank all of my water that I am “supposed” to drink. For the most part, I ate really well. (There was that one cookie incident, but I swore I’d never mention it again.) So, imagine my delight to hop on the scale on Sunday to find that I have gone up almost a pound.
Wow, with rewards like that, it’s no wonder I love the gym so much!
And since I am a lady who just SO learns her lessons well, I am going back this morning to do it all over again. Oh joy, tomorrow I will be needing a walker and a bottle of Aleve (and perhaps a shot or two of vodka, but that is a different story all together).
What sadistic plans do you have for this Monday morning?