Last March, the hubby and I joined the gym. It was our 23 wedding anniversary present to one another. We decided we needed to be healthier so we could annoy each other for another 23 years.
We started going regularly and the few pounds hubby had on him melted away.
I was jealous.
I was busting my butt, and really working hard, but no matter what I did, he seemed to do double what I was and was getting better results. grrrr…
Ok, that’s not really a healthy attitude, right? So, I tried to deal with my competitive and comparing nature and just keep going. I started walking, as well, and finally, I started seeing some results…. just in time for an injury to stop everything.
Off to the doctor who said to behave myself and figure out when I wanted to take care of my injury. He said it would be a while before I could resume my normal routine. DRATS!! I finally got motivated and into “the groove” and everything…
Then I remembered that I had paid up front for a personal trainer. I called the gym, made the appointment and met with the woman today. She’s so tiny, half my height, but she seemed to know what she was doing. I asked her to get me a routine I could do to work around my injury until it was ‘all better’ and I could then include my other activities into my routine. On Wednesday, I’ll know what she’s got up her tiny little sleeves for me, but GOOD. I want to move, I need to move. I need to peel myself out of my comfy, warm, warren and force myself out into new situations.
Being a rabbit, we really do love calm and cozy and minimal drama/excitement, but that can lead to stagnation as well. So to hell with my nervousness and fears and self doubts about my ability… let this tiny little woman do what she will. I’m ready for a change anyway.