Boring and stupid observations on the day.
From the afternoon:
Where. The fuck. Did the motivation go yesterday? I guess I got so spoiled by running around outside I didn't want to go back into the gym. In two bouts and over three hours of my life I'm never getting back I managed to burn maybe a thousand calories. I grant you, arm day is not a short day, and in the end, requisite amounts of jogging and lifting were done, but that doesn't mean a certain amount of irritation doesn't set in. And today I'm tired.
The problem with being tired for me is that I can't tell if the fatigue is mental or physical. If it's physical, is it something I should push through, or does it mean I should take a day off? Am I tired to the point where I could potentially strain a muscle through over-exertion, or am I just dehydrated/improperly nourished, and really just in need of a protein shake or a nap? And it could be mental. For me personally, depression feels a lot like fatigue, and provided I'm depressed, exercise will actually help.
From Now:
So I just got back from the gym and the requisite Grey's Anatomy watching. I love that show. Love it. Of course, terrible things are happening, but while I refuse to spare you the grim details of my own life, I shall spare you the lives of fictional characters.
And back to me, so to speak.
The trainer and I are... not normal. At all. Not okay. But we're better than we were before, which is to say that we're speaking, as long as it's about purely professional matters. Personal speak goes through Brian, and Brian pretends not to notice we don't actually address or look at each other. This by the way did not prevent Ryan and I from speaking in unison a la some amateur comedy routine as we described an unfortunate occurance this morning involving a ball, an overhead light, and my dumb ass. I am klutzy period, and when nervous, have the potential to take out city blocks, so even doing something so innocent as picking up and moving a resista ball somehow became a near-death experience.
Later on, I nearly knocked over a very expensive flat-screen television monitor in front of my arc-trainer and then did not drop my cell phone so much as throw it to the ground ten feet away.
I am NOT cool under pressure. Thankfully, I have already developed a reputation as Grace and tonight's behavior was not seen as especially out of the ordinary.
I'm leaving town. Three days in Chicago will set everything to rights I think. Corey's suggestion was cheap drunken sex and I've never heard advice so sound. It's St. Patricks Day. It can't be hard to find.
Where. The fuck. Did the motivation go yesterday? I guess I got so spoiled by running around outside I didn't want to go back into the gym. In two bouts and over three hours of my life I'm never getting back I managed to burn maybe a thousand calories. I grant you, arm day is not a short day, and in the end, requisite amounts of jogging and lifting were done, but that doesn't mean a certain amount of irritation doesn't set in. And today I'm tired.
The problem with being tired for me is that I can't tell if the fatigue is mental or physical. If it's physical, is it something I should push through, or does it mean I should take a day off? Am I tired to the point where I could potentially strain a muscle through over-exertion, or am I just dehydrated/improperly nourished, and really just in need of a protein shake or a nap? And it could be mental. For me personally, depression feels a lot like fatigue, and provided I'm depressed, exercise will actually help.
From Now:
So I just got back from the gym and the requisite Grey's Anatomy watching. I love that show. Love it. Of course, terrible things are happening, but while I refuse to spare you the grim details of my own life, I shall spare you the lives of fictional characters.
And back to me, so to speak.
The trainer and I are... not normal. At all. Not okay. But we're better than we were before, which is to say that we're speaking, as long as it's about purely professional matters. Personal speak goes through Brian, and Brian pretends not to notice we don't actually address or look at each other. This by the way did not prevent Ryan and I from speaking in unison a la some amateur comedy routine as we described an unfortunate occurance this morning involving a ball, an overhead light, and my dumb ass. I am klutzy period, and when nervous, have the potential to take out city blocks, so even doing something so innocent as picking up and moving a resista ball somehow became a near-death experience.
Later on, I nearly knocked over a very expensive flat-screen television monitor in front of my arc-trainer and then did not drop my cell phone so much as throw it to the ground ten feet away.
I am NOT cool under pressure. Thankfully, I have already developed a reputation as Grace and tonight's behavior was not seen as especially out of the ordinary.
I'm leaving town. Three days in Chicago will set everything to rights I think. Corey's suggestion was cheap drunken sex and I've never heard advice so sound. It's St. Patricks Day. It can't be hard to find.