Week eight: DONE.
You know; unless I decide to work out this weekend or something.
But every day this week, I hit asscrack of dawn classes. Tomorrow, I plan to luxuriate in sweet, delicious sleep until the decadent hour of 6.
A side effect of getting up so early is that my days seem much longer. Since I’m working out before work, I don’t have to work out after work, which means there is all this… time before I have to go to bed! Which is super cool. Then again, tonight I’m so pooped from all the waking up early (which somehow doesn’t necessarily translate into going to bed early) that I keep looking at the clock and wondering when I can hit the hay. And as I’m typing these words, it is only 7:20 pm.
Workouts this week were good. I pushed myself to add more weight for some of the sets in Body Pump. RIPPED is in a new season, and the punchy, kicky part includes something absurd like 400 punches. It’s kind of fun. I like to imagine everyone in class is beating the shit out of someone, and at the end, there’s this pile of bloody bodies.
Don’t pretend that’s psychotic, bitches. I just have imagination. Don’t be jelly.
I got scared I fucked up my shoulder yesterday. We were doing “rotator planks.” That’s where you “plank,” which is something I only have known existed in the last couple of years, and which looks like it should be easy but is actually fucking excruciating. Then from the plank position, you rotate and reach one arm up to the ceiling.
Well. Side one rotated easily enough (and I use the word “easily” very lightly here). But when I started to rotate side two, I felt this horrifying pop in my right shoulder and collapsed to the floor in pain. Then I remembered all those stories about people doing sporty things and feeling something “pop” and being horribly injured and requiring surgeries. In the first thirty seconds, I pictured myself being treated by a doctor and wondering if I would still be able to work the fuck out with a shoulder injury.
But then, mysteriously, it felt better. Guess my first real athletic injury will have to come another day.
Monday I had two new products to try at the gym. The first was a sample of something called Spark, which is a fancypants energy drink for people who go to the fucking gym.
My friend Becca is a distributor for this product’s company, AdvoCare, and I said I’d write about it if I could try a sample. You mix this shit with water, and it’s full of caffeine, so if you feel like passing on your 44-ounce Coke Zero one morning, you can have one of these. Mix it with water, and it’s like vitamin-infused Kool-Aid. Quite tasty. And it seemed to do the job of waking me up; I didn’t drink any diet Coke until lunch time, and even then, I was still quite awake. So… thumbs up! Dunno if I’ll buy it, because I’m a cheapass, but I liked it.
My other product was a new accessory: fingerless gloves for weightlifting.
I got these on account of my delicate little lady hands and how they were getting calloused from the bar. Because Mama’s a badass.
I really feel like arm-wrestling some people right now to see if these guns could own. I went up against a work friend today, and I beat her right-handed, but she’s a lefty, like Inigo Montoya, and she beat me left-handed. I need more righties. Preferably skinny, weakling righties who don’t work out so I’ll have an added advantage. Don’t want my tender little muscles to be dealt a blow to the self-esteem. They’re too young and sensitive for that. Maybe when my four-year-old gets back this weekend, I’ll challenge him. That’s the ticket.
- Favorite part: arm-wrestling someone’s non-dominant arm into defeat.
- Least favorite: almost amputating my dominant arm at the shoulder.