No Fanfare Here

I continue to drip sweat even as I write this. A shower of funk raining down on me. Today I started the T25 home workout my friends Amelia and Ben recommended, nay made me borrow. This is sorta like CrossFit done at home (code for staring at you, making you feel guilty for not doing it 24/7). I recall Amelia saying "It's challenging, but it's only 25 mins.", I guess I didn't fully grasp just how long 25 mins is.

I love the concept, using your own body weight with simple exercises and you don't have to look cute to go to the gym. But clearly I was underestimating the power of the DVD.

I decided to pop this baby in the DVD player and jump right in...in my PJs. Why would you work out in your PJs you ask? Was I wondering where my workout stuff is? Was I afraid if I went into the bedroom I would loose my impetus to actually try the workout? Or am I just THAT lazy? Probably the last one.

The warm up quickly accelerated, I suppose they have to get after it if they are going to attempt to kill you in less than a half hour. My long ponytail became a sharp whip against my back...this did reminding me a little of CrossFit...then as the sweat worked it's way down my face, my ponytail swirled around my head, sticking in clumps over my eyes, as if it was trying to shield me from what would come next.

Lunges would come next. Those painful, torturous lunges. Why does everyone love lunges?! This damn workout had plenty of them of course, and why not? Why not send my body back into shock, reminding it of the horrors of the CrossFit beat-down (this is the term I am adopting for the week of CrossFit hell I spent in Albuquerque). Lunges moved into various jumping movements that not only made me wish I'd put on a sports bra, but made me uncomfortably clear that I must wear lycra because that clapping wasn't a group of fans admiring my beautiful physical fitness...no, that was my ass slapping the back of my thighs.

Just when it couldn't get any worse and the thought of quiting started to whisper to me, came the negative talk:

"You could squat deeper"

"The pretty girl is jumping, why can't you do that move while jumping?"

"Faster!"

"That isn't very graceful"

"Your knees are no where near how high they should be"

"It isn't break time!"

"You look funny"

Was this what I needed while I worked my butt off? NO! So I suddenly stopped, wiped the bucket of liquid effort off my forehead and told my 9 year old son to can it! I mean seriously, as if I don't have enough horrible things to tell myself, I really don't need a snarky preteen with nonstop commentary adding to it.

After that, I am thinking running is sooo much easier. I mean all you have to do is move yourself down the road, no lunges, no jumping, no little people critiquing you. So tomorrow...tomorrow, I'm back to running. I mean a girl needs a break!

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com