kick-assed

As my previous post so cleverly (read: lazily) illustrated -- I had a birthday!

I turned 27 on 2/7. Which seemed only mildly cool until I started to figure out the "magic" birthdays of other members of my family, and realized that not everyone lives to see this numerological milestone. For example, my brother will have to wait until he turns 127 on 12/7. Sorry, Ev.

Anyway -- birthdays are always an excuse for festivity, magic number or not! I definitely dragged the celebrating out for a whole weekend. A weekend full of booze, fried food, and waffles.

And it was glorious!

So after a delicious party-bender, I returned to the gym for my Monday afternoon session with Ron. I was feelin' ok -- a little bloated, maybe, but certainly not hungover.

"Are you ready for me?" Ron asked.

"Sure!" I blithely replied, as I wandered over to the weight room and plunked myself down on the giant rubber exercise ball.

Five minutes later, I knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. The muscles in my arms felt like they'd been replaced with waffles.

"Are you sweating maple syrup?" asked the 6-foot talking lobster with Ron's voice.

"I'm dying!" I groaned, and rolled ever so gracefully off the ball and onto the floor. Where I planned to remain until Spring.

"Party too hard?" Ron asked, as he pressed some slightly-less torturous 3lb dumbbells into my hands.

"It was my birthday weekend," I said.

"Ahhhhh . . ." Ron said, as he propped my limp body up against a wall. "Seven reps, you can do it . . . ok, seven more . . ."

Ron was not about to let me off easy, even though I was about to let loose a weekend's worth of junk-food all over his sneakers. I'd had my fun, and now Ron -- and my pathetically uncooperative body -- were going to make me pay for it.

At this moment, I hated Ron. The same hot, prickly, frustrated rage I felt towards every gym teacher and soccer coach I've ever had. Why are you making me do this? I can't! Not today. I can't.

It turns out, I could. And I did. Ron cut the end of the session a little sort and let me off without much of an ab workout. He was probably also afraid that I was about puke all over him. I limped and crawled frantically out of the gym like I was escaping from some sort of POW camp.

Never again, I thought to myself. That SUCKED.

At first, I blamed Ron. Couldn't that bastard cut me a break? It was my birthday . . . er . . . month, after all! I was pissed. And . . . disappointed.

I'd been feeling so good about my little baby-steps of gym progress. Lifting weights and doing crunches had made me feel strong and powerful and capable. Like my body was a well-tuned machine, instead of a doughy sack of insecurities. I was on the road to becoming a stronger, healthier, less insane me . . . and now I was back to square one. Cue the crying and shame eating.

It's taken a little time to shake off the frustration. I'm realizing, though, that getting in shape really takes a certain amount of commitment. I've always rolled my eyes at people who get up at 5am on Christmas Day to get in their workout or whatever . . . but I'll bet those people feel pretty damn good when they're done.

Yes, there are going to be days when my brain says, "Eff it, Tea -- let's skip the gym today. You went yesterday, you can go tomorrow!" Or, "Life sucks, have another beer!" I can choose to listen to that voice -- and there will probably be times when I do -- but there will be consequences. I will feel like ass the next day. My strength training will come to a standstill, and workouts will get harder. I will continue hallucinate that Ron is a giant crustacean.

Basically -- I gotta make a commitment. Which, for a commitment-phobe like moi, is scary shit. But I also need to choose what's more important to me -- feeling good in the long term, or self-gratification in the short term.

Heady stuff, man. And I thought I was just signing on to drop a few pounds for bathing suit season!

This week, I'm gonna get back in the saddle and commit to the plan. Four strength training workouts a week -- 1 with Ron, 3 on my own. That's 2 Upper Body Days, 2 Lower Body Days. I'm also gonna be brave and hit up the Sunday morning yoga class. I'm gonna include my Couch to 5k training sessions as warm-ups before my strength training sessions.

I don't have to do everything perfectly, but I have to make the effort. Time makes things easier -- but only if you stick with it!

Sticking with things has never been a strength of mine. But this is all about getting stronger -- in every sense of the word.