It Might Be a Tumor

I just completed another week of my work out.  I've worked hard and been faithful every week.  How does my body repay me?  By rebelling.  I have a pain in my leg that has been bothering me since before I started this workout and now it just throbs all day long.  It was really bothering me Monday night and so I did what any normal person with pain would do.  I Googled it.

So, I came up with two possible diagnoses:

1.  Sciatica.  I heard horror stories about this debilitating condition while I was pregnant.  Every woman I came into contact with with regale me with her story of pregnancy-induced sciatica.  She would explain in detail how much it hurt and where and when and why.  Finally, she would tell me, the only relief was to deliver her 12 pound bundle of joy.  Since I am not pregnant - really, I'm not.  I know it seems like I'm giving a lot of weird symptoms and hints to doctors appointments that could imply I am pregnant, but I swear I am not - since I am not pregnant, I don't have a chance at relief if I can't deliver a 10+ pound baby!

Top 3 Reasons Why I Can't Go to the Gym

This is week three of my transformation.  Catch up here and here.

Yesterday was my day to go to Starting-Line Fitness and see my trainer, Kris.

I did not want to go.

Week 2 of My Transformation

Well, I'm gearing up this morning for my second work out this week with my new personal trainer, Kris, at Starting Line Fitness.

I just hope she reads this and takes it easy on me today, because she really kicked my ass on Tuesday - I'm still hobbling along because muscles I never even knew existed are sore.  I arrived on Tuesday in a bad mood and I think she tried get me to a happy place with exercise and that runner's high/endorphin shit doesn't work with me.  Instead, as the hour progressed the black cloud over my head just kept getting darker and darker.  I'm not sure how many times I muttered, "Son.  Of.  A.  Bitch." but I'm pretty sure it was a lot.  I'm positive I yelled it when she showed me this contraption:

It's a set of ropes suspended from the ceiling.  (No, it's not a sex swing, you pervs.)  It's for reverse push ups or some such nonsense.  I don't know what they're called, but they're my own personal hell. You basically hang on to the loops and lean waaaaaayyy back so you're reclined and then you pull yourself up.  Just when you get high enough for it not to hurt anymore you go back down to more pain.  I think I did these three separate times on Tuesday.  I'm such a Pillsbury Dough Girl that I actually got blisters on this stupid thing.  I doubt I will ever like this one.

The beginning of my transformation

Although many of you have no idea what I look like in real life, I've never been shy about painting a mental picture for you.  By now, you know that I am short and round.  I am small and fluffy.  I am little and squat.  I've always been some variation of petite and plump.

Sometimes I was not OK with that and other times I was.  Several years ago I decided I was OK with me.  I was just fine with who I am and what I look like.  Sure, there are days I wish my ass fit better in my jeans and I wish my boobs didn't hit me in the face whenever I tried to do anything slightly jumpy or runny, but I was fine with me.

Last week I read my friend Kim's post about weight.  I was amazed by how brave she - and her readers - were posting their weights for all the world to see.  I read the post, but I didn't comment.  I may be OK with how I look, but there's no way in hell I'm going to tell people how much I weigh!