I just spent the last two hours reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Really kind of enjoying the book. I’ve got a thing for post-apocalyptic fiction.
Around page 63, I took a break. Went to update my progress in my Goodreads app.
For the same reason I add my strength workouts to my Strava manually.
I crave the visual progress numbers provide.
It pings my brain’s reward system.
I have to have pings.
Without them, I’d just lie around waiting for someone to give me a thumbs up for breathing or existing or something.
So, anyway. I went to update my progress in my Goodreads app. But I couldn’t.
Because I had already read the book.
Like, two years ago.
I read 63 pages of a book I read two years ago and had no freakin idea.
And so now I’m struggling to decide. Do I keep reading the book that I’ve already read and am kind of enjoying? Or do I ditch it for a book I presumably haven’t yet read so I can make more progress on my 2019 Reading Challenge?
(75 books and I’m only 17 in…)
I’ve kind of become addicted to the numbers. Which is odd. Since I hate numbers so much.
Yesterday I weighed myself at the gym. I jumped on expecting to see numbers somewhere around 125. Because I feel amazing. I feel stronger than I’ve ever felt. So I knew the numbers would reflect that.
143.8 lbs.
When I was fully pregnant with my kids, carrying an entire extra human around inside my body, I never even hit 140.
According to a BMI scale, I’m teetering on being overweight.
And it’s bullshit. I know that. But those numbers…
I used to have this ideal running weight. I was at my best when I was around 120.
That was also bullshit.
I mean, it kind of wasn’t, because I had very little strength. So I needed to be lighter in order to be able to carry my ass around. (Both figuratively and literally. There’s a good bit back there to lug around regardless of my weight. It stays pretty consistent.)
But I’m pretty sure if I tried to get down to 120 now, I’d die.
On Friday, I went to breakfast with Rogue and Endong after our ball throwing session.
The waitress said she’d lost 80 lbs by only eating something like 1200 calories a day.
Seriously. I’d die.
Death.
Like full on starvation death.
And I wouldn’t go alone.
Eating that little food could only result in several homicides before my body completely consumed itself.
Not my ass, though.
She’s not going anywhere.
She’s a survivor.
So I’m embracing the numbers. Or maybe just ignoring them altogether. Because really, they’re numbers. Ew.
I’m just gonna enjoy all the things I’m starting to be able to do now.
Like make last second decisions to ditch yoga and take on RPM.
Poor Beautiful Beastie was so ready to teach Hydropower and RPM yesterday. And we were so excited to take those classes with her.
My body was all like, “Yeah! Let’s ditch the weights and focus on endurance work! Because our ass is tired of squats! Woo Hoo!”
Then when end of days rains hit and flooded out some people’s homes, Beautiful Beastie had to readjust to teach two completely different classes.
And we adjusted with her.
Body Pump and Yoga it is.
My body was all like, “Ok! We’ll do more weights if you’re gonna give us yoga afterwards! Because our ass hasn’t had that in a while! Woo Hoo!”
And it was nice. I enjoy Body Pump.
At one point, I may have directed a dude to pretend like he was preparing to twerk in order to get his dead lift form right.
Some of y’all have clearly never offered your hind parts up to someone and it shows.
Plus he was trying to go way too heavy for his first class.
Psht. I had no shame ditching the weight altogether when my muscles started to threaten to revolt. And no one wants to see what that looks like.
Muscle failure is real, y’all.
It was cool.
Yoga was coming…
Until it wasn’t.
Because flood girl managed to make it in to teach that class. So Beautiful Beastie had to readjust again. Back to RPM.
And obviously Tiny Brazilian and Finn’s Dad and I we’re gonna follow her wherever she went.
And my body was all like, “Wait. What? But the yoga…”
Death clicks.
And freakin Tiny Brazilian next to me just as happy as can be with her dial turned all the way up to superhuman resistance.
“Dial that shit back. Like a normal human.”
Beautiful Beastie kept encouraging us to take the lead.
I was cool sweeping.
I think I’ve demonstrated that that’s where my strength lies.
At one point, I dropped my towel.
“Sad”
Because I looked like Ted Striker trying to land a damn plane.
I swear I sweated out a good 10lbs in that class.
Thank god I weighed myself after and not before.
As I sat in the hot tub trying to make nice with my legs, Beautiful Beastie said we should probably cancel our trip up Hanging Rock tomorrow. Because flooding.
I did not protest.
There was talk of taking a rest day.
And my body was all like, “Yesssss.”
And then that turned into 6-18 miles on local trails followed by Spartan training.
And my body was all like, “But rest day…”
And Tiny Brazilian yelled at my body telling it that this was its rest day! This one hour of hot tub time was its rest day.
And my body was all like,
It’s cool.
I can be as flexible with life as Beautiful Beastie.
So I’m about to head on over to Waid Park to meet Rogue. An entire hour earlier than the rest of them will get there. So we can do extra work before the real work.
Shhhhh, ass. You had a whole hour rest day yesterday…
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