I started working out again. I was shamed into working out by the fabulous California weather, strong indicator that wearing-nothing season is in-like-omg- three weeks!
So my friend Claire and I decided to splurge and share the tough love of a personal trainer. To give you an indication of the lady's expectations I will tell you that she trains professional athletes for a living. Professional athlete and us. This is a nice change of pace for her because she doesn't usually get to hear whines, complaints and requests for water breaks. She must wonder why, if I hate sweating and panting so much, do I insist on paying her good money to make me do it.
I wonder that too.
She works us so hard that the muscle pain did not leave me between two sessions. After the first session I couldn't go up and down stairs and my ab pain was so severe that I could not laugh without moaning at the same time. This week it's the shoulders and the tush. I walk like one of those clowns with the big shoes and I go ouch, ouch when I get out of my car. But it's worth it because:
I'M GOING TO LOOK SO HOT!
At least that's what she promises. Okay. I definitely want to look hot. It's on my list of 100 things to do before I die. I'm motivated now.