I just did 20 lunges.
Do you know what that means, people? It means I have lost the ability to move any of my lower extremities for the next 48 hours. In fact, on the 20th lunge, my sister had to cheer me on. It was either pull through and take a victory lap around my living room or give into my quaking hamstrings and collapse into a very dramatic heap on the floor. And I mean VERY DRAMATIC HEAP.
However, I pulled through...and then stumbled across my living room, and fell onto my couch, whimpering.
I am planning on working from my bed tomorrow.
I also lifted weights for the past 30 minutes. Why do we have so many muscles? I mean truly, can't we just have, like, seven? That would make this whole fitness challenge oh-so much easier.
And the 30 minutes before the last 30 minutes, well, let's just say that I was on the treadmill, gasping for breath, cursing my child-birthing hips and my love for anything that looks like cookie dough.
12 weeks? Really? Dear Jesus, come quickly.
But you know what, other than the heart palpitations and general numbness from the neck down, I feel good. I feel really good. I may not be able to walk tomorrow, but for one glorious hour I was a world-class athlete in my own personal Olympics.
And I won the gold. By a landslide.
I am currently having my sister make me a medal stand. And she will sing the National Anthem as well.
But please people, no autographs. I am having a hard time lifting my arms.
3 days down, a bazillion to go, and feeling good.
P.S. I cannot get off the couch. Seriously. I am still here. Help. Me.