Me vs. Pride -- the ongoing saga

I debated about whether to blog about this since it's embarrassing and really just a complaint, but let's see how funny I can make it. Don't hold your breath.

I've been getting up before the kids and knocking out some bike and arm toning time while watching The Daily Show. I didn't tell anyone because that always seems to jinx it. Accountability has an adverse affect on my productivity when it comes to exercise.

I'm at the highest level of aerobic fitness my bike is programmed for but that isn't saying much. Man can work the bike at the highest level of resistance (which the aerobic programs don't even touch) for about an hour. He dismounts with clothing soaked in honest toil and muscles so tough they'd wear sunglasses indoors and gold chains around their necks if they could. I swear one calf muscle has Dr Dre as its ring tone, the little gangsta wannabe. He can also rip out 79 sit ups in 2 minutes flat. Despite the shoulder, he's in great physical condition.

So, there I was, on a Saturday, wanting to continue my fitness program for another day but feeling like the bike wasn't difficult enough. I got out The 30 Day Shred which I did off and on in Texas but hadn't gotten out in over 3 months. Since Man was in the room and occasionally watching, I did the middling level as opposed to my normal weak-person level. About 5 minutes in, after various attempts at push ups, jumping jacks, stretching I wasn't limbered for, and squats I dipped too far and used weights for, I was in the throes of an asthma attack.

I stole a couple of puffs of Bren's albuterol which I figured was better than a trip to the ER, and was reminded of why I hate taking medicine. I couldn't walk straight for half the day and blamed the albuterol, but the next day I realized my fatal error: I didn't cool down.

Now I can't walk straight because I frickin' burned my muscles. Arms, legs, lats, pecs, everything. Getting on the floor with the nursery kids yesterday was all kinds of torture despite pain meds and getting out of furniture is a constant challenge. We went to a bbq on Saturday and had missionaries and another family over for dinner last night, and all of that was done in exquisite pain. I laughed about it with people, telling thing that I'm walking like someone with severe hemorrhoids, but without the advantage of a legitimate and less-embarrassing excuse. Why was I limping? Because my pride kicked my lily rear end. A lady at church is about my age and limps from severe arthritis. Another guy walks funny because he's MISSING A LEG. My reason? My husband was in the room and I didn't want to look like a total wuss. I wasn't willing to becomes stronger by degrees and pretended like I was at the level I want to be at NOW. I wanted to progress 10 steps in one day and, as a result, I've slid back 15.

A little bike and some stretching today will help work some of the lactic acid out and I'll try hard not to let my butt wiggle like a duck as I limp about my house. It's also hard not to slip back into the pregnant lady waddle I employed for knee and sciatic pain since I strained a ligament in my knee during the warm up and, like an idiot, kept going anyway.

-forehead slap-

Moral of the story, stick to the little stuff if what you can do is little stuff. It's better than laming yourself entirely.