Monday was the first day I have exercised since about my 5th month of pregnancy. A couple of women from work were headed off to the gym and asked me if I would like to join.
Sure! Why not?
Famous. Last. Words.
I should be dead right now, and I nearly am.
Ok, that’s being a bit dramatic.
I came this close to losing my legs, people! THIS close! If I had to choose keeping my legs or becoming lunch for a honey badger, I probably would choose to become a honey badger’s lunch. It was that bad. The ridicule may have hurt worse than my thighs.
This is what I get for jumping in on my friend’s workout who have probably been doing this workout for ages. And here I come, three months after having my baby, not working out in forever, and I’m all like, “I got this shit. Watch out.”
So they put me on the leg press machine. We did squats with a bar having no weights on it. We did weighted curtsey-lunges. We did dead lifts. My dead lifts were with a naked bar. And we did calf-raises. I used my body weight for most of those.
I should have just trusted my instincts, blown them off and put my out-of-shape-post-maternal-ass on the track. Like I had planned on.
For the rest of the week, I would look like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz before Dorothy put oil on his knees.
I did this nonsense on Monday. It’s Friday now. I’m sill crying when I use the stairs (Thank GOD we live in a ranch style home!).
I went to the mall yesterday to buy an interview suit. I ended up spending about $100 more than I had anticipated because I couldn’t bear to walk any further to the store my friend told me to go to. The one where the suit jackets don’t cost $89. Imagine what it probably feels like to have strands of spaghetti as muscle fibers in your thighs. Some cooked. Some not. Imagine someone walking with cooked and uncooked spaghetti for legs and that would be me all week.
I don’t even want to exercise ever again. Screw you, weights. And then Monday when I go to run, my body’s going to be a year older than it ever was. Duncan Lou the two-legged boxer dog will look like a beautiful ballerina compared to the mess I’ll be. Oh, for the love of a skinny waist!