I Worked Out This Morning
My alarm goes off and I hope it’s my creator calling me home. Maybe I accidentally turned on one of my “going to the airport” alarms. Was it a dream, or did I sign up for a class with some variation of the words “fit,” “core,” or “shred” in its name last night? I struggle to lift my eyelids and wonder how I’ll be able to lift weights in a mere 30 minutes.
I pop a foot out from under the covers. It freezes off. To conserve heat, I slither off the end of my bed and shape shift into a sad pile of rags to plug in the percolator. My stream of consciousness is a slew of old timey swears. I choke down banana and grow hungrier.
In the dark, I grab a tank with 1,000 crisscrossing straps on the back and become tangled like a dolphin in a commercial fishing net. I wiggle through and hope for the best, surrendering to the fact that there’s probably a thong staticed to my hoodie and a boob displaced into my armpit.
One small step for me, one giant leap for kind of fit women everywhere!
It’s so cold. I should probably turn back. This light is taking forever. I should probably turn back. My knee kind of hurts. I don’t want to push it. I should probably turn back.
At the studio, I’m greeted by my worst nightmare: Peppiness before 10 am. The tiny instructor asks for my name. I deliver it three times before she gets it right and debate just going by “Lee” for the rest of my life. The microphone strapped to her face will soon amplify her peppiness and fitness.
The micro-trainer wastes no time making a Brittney Spears joke about her microphone. But, she’s Casper and I’m doing the Cha Cha Slide; I will obey her every command, even though she breaks a universal law and plays Sean Paul before 5 pm.
I half-ass everything. After all, I’ve already surpassed what’s typically expected of me physically at this time by not being in REM.
I look at my watch. I was so caught up in being counted down to from eight that I forgot I have to be at work early today. I speed home and Stooge my way through my morning routine, burning myself on: My coffee, my curling iron, and my decision to workout this morning.
I’m boasting a shiny sweat mustache on the train. I haven’t stopped sweating since dawn. I should probably WebMD this.
I plop down at my desk, heavy with lactic acid. Hunger knocks. I answer with a pathetic palmful of almonds.
I ask a coworker if they saw the sunrise this morning. I did. It was beautiful. It was coming up on my way home from the gym.
Starvation sets in. I’m ravenous. After all, I did burn all of those calories and pieces of hair getting ready this morning. I guess since I ate breakfast at 5:15 am, it’s acceptable to eat lunch now.
And my afternoon snack.
Early dinner it is! It’s healthier to eat dinner early. That way you can intermittently fast until breakfast.
I haven’t stopped eating since 10:30 am under the auspices of this morning’s workout. I’ve lied to my fitness tracker app and eaten at least 3,000 unaccounted-for additional calories.
But, tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start, a chance to make healthier choices!
I check the class schedule and reserve my spot for tomorrow’s 6 am “Shred and Burn” class. Tomorrow is the beginning of my fitness journey.
