After spending a great weekend kinda overdoing it completely overindulging today marked time to get back to the salad again.
And while baby spinach leaves and thawed chicken strips might not be as flashy as a 12 pound burger from Texas Roadhouse, or a drippy mess of delicious, buttery quesadillas... though they might not be able to compete with a tasty red velvet Whoopie Pie from Starbucks or a (cue Hallelujah chorus) fried pie from Hillsboro, I must say they'll do in a pinch. (PLUS, they always make me feel like I'm in good company.)
And today was nothing if not a pinch-me back to reality kinda day. As if grading papers for seven hours wasn't enough fun to get my blood pumping, I had an all-important second date tonight. (Third if you count the time my new friend got really feely with a tape measure then asked me to take off my socks so he could determine my body fat index.)
That's right, tonight was workout numero two with "my personal trainer."
Don't worry, it's not nearly as fancy as it sounds. He came free with my gym membership is all. Free for five 30 minute sessions... basically just enough to let a person know how awfully bad out of shape she actually is, that way she's ready to put her organs for sale to continue seeing this guy.
Anyways, though our session tonight was slightly less painful than our last - the one where he had me doing jumping squats and lunges 'til my legs felt like spaghetti noodles - it still managed to highlight my weaknesses in oh-such-a-fun way.
Like falling on my face while trying to use one of those little rolly things that works your core. Oh, and then making near-crying noises while doing "three inches," which is about three inches harder than the version of leg lift holds we used to do in high school.
Did I mention this all got to happen in the section of the gym I've only briskly walked through on my way to the locker room until now? The part the meatheads more serious patrons frequent while I stick close to the TVs and the water fountain.
Well, thankfully, after my embarrassing display I got to hit Zumba. Ohh Zumba, a dance class filled with rhythmically challenged women such as myself doing a lot of what I have dubbed "the fart-wafting move."
A good recovery I think. GOOD recovery.
All my humiliation hard work today has left me thinking it might be time I take this fitness thing a little more seriously, meaning maybe it's time to get rid of the cookie dough I've had stashed in my freezer for a rainy (ridiculously tough) day.
In the spirit of clarity though, I feel the need to explain that by "get rid of" I definitely mean eat it, just in two - three cookie portions instead of package fulls.
That's reasonable right?
My trainer, the former college football player who splurges on a donut once every THREE months, he would totally understand that, right?
I thought so. I mean, they say the key to dieting is moderation.
And what's more moderate than two to five cookies once every couple of hours days? Exactly. I'm totally in the clear here.
ANYWAYS... Happy Tuesday Eve friends.
I hope your tomorrow is filled with good things, just not too many of them of course.
Well, unless they come with chocolate chips... then you get a pass, and so do I. I'm sure the salad (and my trainer friend) will understand.
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