I am going to get buff. I am; it's my goal, it's what I live for.
Well, no, it's not what I live for. But it is my goal. I decided that as S studied fitness and other such crap when he was younger that he would become my trainer. We started a while ago but only last week in earnest. He basically forced me on pain of death to do more squats than I wanted to do (I wanted to do one, he wanted me to do thirty-six; we compromised with twenty-two).
The thing is, all anyone has to do is call me a wuss - in this case, S said "stop crying like a wuss" - and I'll immediately do everything in my power to look manly. So I, who have not done anywhere near squats in over two years, did twenty-two. Oh, and after the squats, my personal trainer went off to play football and left me to my own devices. Loser.
Anyhoo, my legs hurt INSTANTLY, and they have ever since. I woke up this morning and knew immediately that I'd be lucky to walk all the way from the bedroom to the kitchen. I made it to the kitchen, crouched to get a new bin bag out from under the sink, and had to yell for S to come pull me out of the crouch position.
I made it to work. Someone asked me to 'nip upstairs and pick up a folder', I quietly calculated the number of stairs I'd have to navigate to do this. Twenty up and twenty down, OK, I can do that, but no more. It will take all the willpower and manpower (womanpower, whatever) and everything else I have to do those stairs, but I can do it. Forty stairs. The end.
Unfortunately I then needed to return the file. I cringed, which hurt my bum, so I uncringed. I cried a little. Come on. Forty stairs again. I visualized S's face and imagined his mouth forming the words "don't be such a wuss".
I did it. And I didn't even limp. And I'm going back to do more squats tomorrow.
Who's a wuss now?
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