I am a loser. Not just because I lost weight, but because I’m apparently too old for this trendy P90X thing.
Perry and I did the preliminary fitness test on Sunday evening, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I couldn’t come close to doing a single chin-up, but I far exceeded the minimums on several other parts of the test. Example: I did 20 real push-ups, not the girly ones on your knees. Not bad, right?
We did our first workout on Monday, and I had very mixed feelings about how it went. I knew it was supposed to be hard, but there were quite a few times when I just had nuthin’. After the first few sets of pushups, I couldn’t do a single one. Not even on my knees.
Ditto for the ab workout that followed: there were some parts where I thought, “Hey, I’m still in pretty decent condition. Look at me go!” And then there were parts where I couldn’t come close to completing ONE of a particular exercise. I still have not found the muscles required to attempt a real situp. My abs feel firm, and I can do crunches with relative ease, but the situps? They’re just gone. The muscles are AWOL, and I don’t know if they’re ever coming back. I think they disappeared somewhere between my 5th and 7th child. You might be laughing, but I’m serious. It’s not that situps are too hard. It’s like trying to wiggle my ears. I can’t find the right muscles.
But all this has very little to do with my loser status this morning.
After my workout last night, after cooling down, resting, and showering, I headed to bed. On my way, I leaned over the baby’s bed to check on him. He was covered in blankets, so I pulled them off. He didn’t need them. So far, so good. Then I noticed a toy next to him. “That might be uncomfortable if he rolls onto it,” says I. I’m a good mother, so I notice these things. I leaned over and pushed the toy against the far side of his bed. “I think I just pinched a nerve in my hip,” says I. I slowly stood up, breathing slowly and shallowly to cope with THE FIRE IN MY LOWER RIGHT BACK, and slowly eased myself onto the bed.
“I think I shall die now,” I thought to myself.
Perry came to bed a few minutes later and I warned him not to jiggle the bed lest he kill his old lady and live out his days as a widower. He brought me 4 ibuprofen and a glass of water, which I pitifully sipped out of the corner of my mouth because there was no way I was raising my torso to drink properly. For the rest of the night, I didn’t move. I didn’t roll over or shift position or reach for the sheets when the temperature dipped below 90. I said a prayer of thanks and praise when the baby slept through the night.
This morning I am marginally better. My bad feels like smoldering coals instead of a streak of lightning, and I did manage to dress (slowly, painfully, one step at a time) and go to the bathroom. I’ve taken 4 more ibuprofen. Now I am planted in a chair 3 feet from my bed with a heating pad on my back and I plan to stay here until…well, until I have to go to the bathroom again.
Oh, and while I was in the bathroom I stepped on the scale. I’ve lost another 2 lbs. this week, putting my total loss at 11 lbs. I am just 1 lb. over my pre-marriage/pre-pregnancy weight range. Now I want to know why my waist is still 5.5″ bigger than it was back then…oh, wait. Never mind.
How is your weight loss/fitness goal going? Have you hit any bumps?