The First Week

Picture it: Sicily; 1932.

Or Appleton, 2014.  April 21st, to be exact.  I got an amazing phone call.  A complete stranger had chosen me as the winner of a contest she was sponsoring, to win a year of free Anytime Fitness membership and 6 months of personal training.  I was so overwhelmed, I'm not even certain I thanked her during the phone call.

So thanks, Jen.  I can't say it enough...and I promise to you that I will pay this forward!

April 24th: I went to ATF to be "presented" with my awesome prize.  It was mortifying and awesome.  In some situations, I am completely comfortable being the center of attention.  Surprisingly, in many situations, I HATE being the center of attention.  This was a weird mix of both.  I made Jeff come to Anytime Fitness with me because I was so freaked out at the prospect of going and meeting a room full of strangers and having a "big deal" made out of myself.  #awkwardsauce (Yes, I know hashtags do not work on blogspot.  It's funnier if you read the "hashtag" part aloud, but I digress).

Anyway, everyone was super nice.  Like, so nice it was hard to believe they are actual humans.  But guess what; they totes are.

On my 32nd birthday, I met with my personal trainer, Donovan, for the first time.  He is excellent.  I was so exhausted after the first session, while at the same time feeling like I did embarrassingly little to be so winded.  Push ups, some chest things, squats (god dammit anyway, ouch), medicine ball slams (I pictured the a-holes on Fair St's heads during that part...it was awesome).  My body felt like Jello when I was done.  Holy shitballs, this is no joke.  I went home and passed out, then asked my husband to beat the shit out of me with a meat tenderizer (no lie, it was awesome).

The next day, I wanted to die.  My EVERYTHING hurt.  Even my toe muscles and earlobes.  I felt like I was 900 years old.

Welcome to Anytime Fitness, I'll be your creaking, ancient mummy.

But I went back to the gym that day anyway, because Donovan told me to.  I HATE when people call me at work for my professional opinion, and then blatantly disregard it, so I promised myself I would do whatever my trainer said to do.

Drop and give me 5 million burpees, woman, and make it snappy!

The next day, I worked out with Donovan again.  This time, in addition to all the shoulder stuff and step ups (yuck x 1 billion), I got to do rope slams.  Holy shit, is THAT fun.  And exhausting.  And fun.  Also, exhausting.  He must know that I have pent up rage under my nice lady exterior, because those rope slams sure are therapeutic.  Again, I imagined the ropes beating the crap out of those Fair St. fuckers with their lame DCShoe hats and saggy pants and hateful words and stupid faces.  Donovan said I could imagine his face...and I said "I still like you."  Kind of makes me wonder what fresh hell he'll have in store for me in the future.



Today, I went in and did cardio again.  But I was hella pissed...my new gym shoes (birthday gift from the hubs, which I tried on and picked out) hurt like a mofo.  My toes were numb and my arches burned like brimstone and hellfire.  I had to stop after only 25 minutes on the treadmill and bike instead of the 45 I had initially planned on.  So I went back to Rogan's and traded them in for a different pair today.  Here's hoping they're more comfy!

Tomorrow I have another amazing date with Donovan at the crack of dawn.


4 days down, a lifetime to go.

#amazeballs