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Posts Tagged ‘workout’

The wages of exuberance: shin splints.

I’m not actually willing to call them shin splints yet, however. Let’s just call them shin irritations.

I knew I was in trouble when I took the elevator to the second floor this morning and then couldn’t work up the energy to go try on boots at lunch.

BOOTS, people. Cute ones. On SALE.

Fine. I overdid it Wednesday morning, when I discovered mid-run that I could run farther than I could in previous sessions. So, like the Flock of Seagulls, I ran so far away, walked a little, then ran a little more. UPHILL.

I ran too far for my own good, apparently.

I’ve taken the elevator and a couple of anti-inflammatories. I’ll ice my lower legs tonight. I’ll pace myself at tomorrow morning’s boot camp.

The fact that I haven’t even considered skipping it means that one correct description for me is either resolute or hard-headed. Maybe both.

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Ah, there it is. The first pound gained from boot camp.

That’s right. I have gained weight because of an exercise program.

Muscle is more dense than fat, and I’ve definitely muscled up a little. I can see it and feel it here and there.

This pound is not a bad thing.

I admit to a lifelong obsession with waifishness, however. Wouldn’t it be nice, I’ve always thought, to be one of those girls who looks effortlessly twiggy in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, or one of those women whose tiny shoulders and small chest just look absolutely dainty in her sparkly LBD?

But this sort of thinking quickly veers into the you-can-never-be-too-skinny realm. And you can TOTALLY be too skinny.

And those waifs looking so graceful in their yoga pants? A lot of them want to be skinnier too.

Which brings me to my point: That number you see on the scale? No matter how bulky or skinny it makes you feel, that’s someone else’s goal weight. You may very well be someone else’s waif.

Me? I’ve done approximately 100 push-ups this week along with untold numbers of squats, jumping jacks, curls and ab exercises. I wore my heaviest boots to the doctor’s office this morning and didn’t blink when the nurse kept nudging the indicator over.

I feel awesome. Maybe I’ll gain another pound next week.

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Due to Huntsville’s perpetual fall rain cycle (AKA cold November rain, for you G&R buffs), boot camp was held inside of a karate studio this morning. The indoor lighting revealed what 5:30 a.m. lighting in the regular outdoor location did not: I was the only participant wearing weightlifting gloves.

I felt particularly tomboyish for a few minutes, which is not an unfamiliar feeling for me, until I at last spotted one more boot camper wearing similar gloves. It then occurred to me that the two of us were going to have the softest hands in the whole group at the end of boot camp because the main reason I wear weightlifting gloves is to protect my hands from dumbell-induced calluses.

And that’s how I went from tomboy to soft-handed lady, all in the span of three minutes before daylight on a Monday.

My brain is a wonderland.

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First of all, guess what? I’m totally going to boot camp. At 5:30 a.m. Three days a week. During the kickoff of the holiday eating season.

I’m not trying to lose massive amounts of weight, although a little trim-up here and there wouldn’t go unappreciated. I really just need to get out of my fitness rut — working out by yourself often means that you stop really challenging yourself. Three sets of three different lifts, 30 minutes of cardio … meh. It turns into an uninspired check mark on the daily to-do list.

I’ve been lucky enough to inherit my maternal grandfather’s height (not ALL of it, but I’m taller than most other female relatives) and his tendency toward the slender end of the spectrum. I’m not stick-figure thin, mind you: I have curves that will grow curvier if left to their own devices.

What I want is muscles. Not big muscles, but toned muscles. And not just for display purposes. I like it when my muscles can DO things, like effortlessly move piles of books or march up the stairs two at a time. I like it when I can SEE the muscles outlined on my back and stomach, not because they’re making me look skinnier, but because they’re making me stronger.

They’re also helping me have better bones. Having watched my grandmother suffer with advanced osteoporosis, I want to do everything I can to prevent my own diagnosis.

So back to my first day at Madison Adventure Boot Camp: It was fun and difficult, very reminiscent of the workouts I completed the year that I was on the basketball team in junior high (note: tall girls may not be aggressive enough to play basketball – they may just be tall).

A workout with variety will draw me in me every time. A little jogging here, a few side squats there, some shoulder work (wait, MORE shoulder work?) … boot camp is the workout for those of us with fitness ADD.

Tomorrow’s going to be an achy-muscle kind of day, but in that good way where you can picture little bits of muscle breaking down only to rebuilt with better, stronger muscle.

One advantage I’ve already noticed: a general aversion to the office bowl of leftover Halloween candy. After all, I’m not counteracting all that early-morning work with cheap milk chocolate. (Expensive dark chocolate … maybe we’ll talk.)

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