My Butt...It Is Kicked

I met with M. the Reasonable this morning, for our usual Monday morning workout. We started a new regime today, and that's always kind of exciting. I have somehow turned into that gymbo type who rather enjoys getting her butt kicked and handed back to her on a platter.

Go figure.

Today, we started off strong--I did exercises like "curtsy lunges" and floor presses (think bench press, without the bench) and kettlebell swings. Then there were the eye-level row-type exercises with the resistance band and throwing a ball against a wall and going into a squat when catching it.

One minute of all of these exercises, with 10 seconds to rest in between. Three times.

Tired? You don't know what tired feels like until you're in that third set of ball throws, losing your balance and unable to do something as simple as catch or throw a big ball.

My arms, people.

Anyway, next up was three sets of three different Pilates exercises for abs. They were pretty killer, but I got through them.

Finally, we headed over to the treadmill...and for the first time in the almost six months I've been working out with M. the Reasonable, I wanted to kick him. (To put things in perspective, I lost count of all the times I wanted to kick G. the Meanie. Almost daily.)

Really, the routine doesn't sound bad. Get the treadmill going at 5 mph, set the incline to 10 so you're running uphill. Start the timer, run for twenty seconds, rest for ten seconds. Do this eight times.

Come on, how hard can it be?

Ha. Haha. Ha.

I've done it before, and I really loathe uphill interval runs on the treadmill.

Today was particularly difficult. The first couple of intervals were okay--not fun, but not embarrassing, either. The third and fourth intervals were more painful. I made a whiny remark about my legs being tight, which elicited a chuckle from my torturer trainer. The fifth and sixth intervals found me starting to gasp--loudly--for air. I don't normally have issues with breathing (except that sometimes I forget to) when I run, so that was odd, but I kept plugging along.

"Only 40 seconds of work left!" called M. encouragingly from behind me.

And this, dear readers, marks the first time in six months that I've ever wanted to turn around and growl, "Go. To. Hell." at M. the Reasonable.

Somehow I pushed through those two intervals, while M. made those "Yes!" and "Awesome!" noises that trainers like to make. Finally, I heaved my feet to the sides of the treadmill for the last time, gasping and doubling over, accepting the satisfied praise from my trainer while also trying not to throw up on his Vibrams. (What is it about running that makes me feel like I'm going to hurl?) We joked about my unkind thoughts of him, and he acknowledged that such thoughts are justified--it's not an easy exercise, and especially not after everything else I had done in our session today.

At this point, we were finished, but we detoured around the gym so I could catch my breath and start feeling my legs again before sitting down at a desk--where I promptly started coughing.

Seems all that breathing difficulty on the treadmill was caused by loose phlegm rattling around and was now uncomfortably lodged in my throat. For the next 15 minutes, no amount of coughing or water-drinking would move it. I somehow managed to drag myself out to Rosie Pro and drive myself home.

The good news in all of this is that it didn't kill me, so I guess my body must be getting even stronger. I've got more coming to me on Wednesday, and a Friday assignment that looks killer.

Bring it on.