Last Chance Workout

Oh. The. Pain.

First workout since last Wednesday, and my legs were screaming.

This past week was filled with junk. Being my birthday week, I allowed myself to indulge. Indulging apparently means ribs and french fries, cake, six donuts (yeah, that happened) and even a couple of glasses of iced tea. Add to it the fact that I hadn't been sleeping well, and hadn't really had a chance to see my husband all week, so I ditched workout #3 last week in favour of spending time with him. Instead of the gym I had a cafe mocha from Starbucks and half a giant cookie. Good substitute, Thelma. Good work.

My legs were screaming. Twenty minutes in, I was worried and frustrated. This was supposed to be Last Chance Workout. Granted, I wasn't going to workout for six hours like the BL contestants do, but I was going to make it worth it. I managed three and a half minutes at a higher pace, but couldn't push myself to five. (Couldn't/wouldn't... fine line.) I paused the treadmill to try and stretch. No relief.

I decided to give them something to scream about. If my legs were going to hurt, it wasn't going to be because I was lazy. I jabbed that incline up to 10, kept my walking pace the same and hoofed it. Four minutes. No holding on, of course. Jillian wouldn't have let me.

It was punishing. I was dripping and gasping. My legs? Working out the kinks. By the time the incline dropped again, I could run. I managed two-three minute intervals and it felt effortless. My legs had received the message and were ready to work. So they did.

It was worth it. Lance Armstrong came through on my Nike+ to say, "Hi! This is Lance Armstrong! Congratulations on completing your longest run yet!" I squeaked a bit when I heard his name and the girl beside me almost fell off her treadmill. I'm interpreting that longest in terms of distance, and hoping that Lance isn't thinking, "Good grief, girl! Could it have taken you any longer??"

Last Chance Workout: Punishing and exhilarating
Stretching Song: 'God doesn't make mistakes' by Carolyn Dawn Johnson

The scale this morning: Forgiving.