I crossed a milestone this weekend… no I didn’t have a birthday, I didn’t have another child… I worked out my abs. What do you mean, what’s the big deal? I have a bright purplish/red 8-inch scar going right down the middle of my stomach, so “working my abs” as a big step – at least for me.
I went to the gym Saturday morning and decided that I better start working on the midsection (softball is starting and I need to make sure I can throw and swing a bat). It went ok. I’m sure the muscle-rippling monster aliens that are posing as real human men (think Men in Black) were chortling under their breath that this mere human could only do 12 reps at 60 lbs on the ab machine or 10 reps of side bends. But I ignored the eye-rolling and felt quite accomplished that I was even in there “workin’ it.”
Then to prove that I’m really tough, I went and did a mile on the stair-stepper-thingy… good grief, who needs waterboarding? I think that is the worst torture machine there is – especially since I made the mistake of getting next to a young, fit girl who was climbing like she was running downhill. I couldn’t stop before she did, that would be wimpy. Thankfully, she was half-way through her hour-long stepping when I started, so as soon as she was out of sight 30 minutes later, I collapsed in a heap on the floor, lying in a pool of sweat, whispering for someone to put me out of my misery.
With the light-headed, leg-trembling, sweat-in-the-eyes aftermath, it should probably be illegal to drive home after such a hard work-out…. I’m just saying…