I've been working with the fantastic Karen over at afitterimage.com for over two months now. I've had some hard workouts and I've had to push myself a lot. I've had setbacks with my health - my back acting up, catching a cold - but I haven't wanted to quit. Until Monday night.
Allow me to paint a picture for you. It's sometime last week, and Karen's sitting in her fitness lair, devising my workout plan for Monday. She sits, hunched over her computer, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled a la Mr. Burns. In the background, Charlie Daniels Band's "Devil Went Down to Georgia" is playing, but only the part where the devil's on the fiddle. There's a flash of light as Karen realizes the torture she's going to unleash on me. Her hands feverishly cross the keys, each stroke designed to bring me more pain than the last. When she's done, she uploads "Boot Camp," and cackles with glee.
Okay, I may have exaggerated a bit there. But man, that kicked my ass. And not in the, "Wow, I feel really accomplished" way. Rather, it was the "Oh my God, I want to die, I can't breathe, please shoot me now" kind of way.
To be fair to Karen, I wasn't feeling super hot that day. I'd done a bit of drinking Saturday night and spent from 4am to 6am praying that the Vomit Gods wouldn't visit me. I took a little nap around 9am, but woke up to go get a mani/pedi, get my hair done, and go to dinner and the movies with my sister. I went to bed later than I should have. The entire day, I had a headache and felt a bit sick to my stomach. That lingered into Monday.
So perhaps I wasn't in top form Monday night when I attempted the workout. I wanted to die. So much.
I guess the takeaway from this isn't really that Karen's evil. Instead, it's that if you treat your body like shit and then attempt to make it do something like a kick ass boot camp workout, you're going to be miserable. I should have listened to my body and just taken the night off instead of trying to prove something to myself.
Nah. I'll just blame Karen.
