Last week, I joined Team Weight Loss at Lifetime Fitness. My trainer is badass. He’s cool, and he doesn’t let me slack for a freaking second. Jerk. :)
On Monday, I had my first session. Kicked my ass. Woke up the next morning and THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, SORE-MUSCLE ANGRY DEATH. Then I woke up on Wednesday and OH GOD SOMEHOW IT’S WORSE THAN THE DAY BEFORE. And I had to go back to class on Wednesday.
I texted Trainer - “Dude, sore. Help?” and he’s all “We’ll take it easy!” Yeah, right. But somehow I made it through, and again on Thursday. (Everything hurt. It hurt to LAUGH. Not kidding.)
Then Monday of this week happened. It was HARD. Like, tearing up because everything hurt and I hate my life and everyone and WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME FIT GIRL ON THE TREADMILL I KNOW I’M GRUNTING ON EVERY REP.
It made me mad. And I whined and moaned. Blah blah blah.
So I went in last night. I’m feeling…..eh. Trainer sees me. He goes, “Get on the treadmill, we’re doing a mile.”
Wait, I’m sorry. “Doing” a mile. You mean, like, walk it? Or like, walk to the ice cream store that’s down the street? That might be a mile. Or maybe I’m supposed to DRIVE a mile. Yeah, that sounds right.
Let’s be completely honest here. Never, in my life, have I ever ran a mile. In fact, sometimes, when I’m ralking, I think about the fact that if we were to truly have a zombie apocalypse or something ridiculous and terrifying, I would just straight up die. From the running. Not even from the zombies.
So. Now I’m going to tell you the story of my first mile. Ever. Play-by-play, people. Because it was pretty epic.
START: *expletives* (mostly aimed at Trainer)
.10 mile: Whoa, I’ve already done a tenth of mile? Shit, this is no big deal!
.20 mile: Oh you have got to be freaking kidding me. This is impossible. IMPOSSIBLE I TELL YOU.
.25 mile: Wooooo! I’m a fourth of the way done!! Wait, that’s not very much….
.30 mile: Sons of asses.
.34 mile: There is NO WAY it has only been 4/100th’s of a mile since I looked down last. NO WAY. I swear I went at least 2/10th’s of a mile. Does this treadmill even work???
.40 mile: Trainer just asked me how I’m doing. I grunted out “fine” but what I really wanted to say might have gotten me kicked out of Lifetime. Forever.
.50 mile: Okay. I’m halfway done. I’m sweating so much it looks like I just jumped in a pool, every breath has turned into a wheeze, but I’m halfway done. Way to go, Liz! You’re a freaking rock star!!
.62 mile: You fat son of a bitch. You’re never going to finish. You’re the worst human. Why did you think you could lose weight? You should go back to sitting on the couch and eating Torchy’s for every meal. You’d be much more successful at that.
.70 mile: Uh, Trainer? I think my heart is going to explode. No, I mean, literally. Not figuratively. Heartsplosion. Right now.
.75 mile: **more expletives than you ever knew existed**
.78 mile: **I’ll be honest friends – I stopped here to catch my breath for about 20 seconds. But I was starting to see spots and get light-headed, so I’m going to cut myself a little slack.**
.80 mile: Oh my gosh! Only 2/10th’s of a mile left! Woooo hooooo!
.90 mile: SWEET HOLY MOTHER OF WORKOUT GODS WHEN WILL IT END
.95 mile: **Gabe comes over and ups my speed** Shitassmothereffer.
1 mile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!: HOLY CRAPPING CRAP I JUST RAN A FREAKING MILE.
I think that I called, like, 10 different people to tell them that I ran a mile. As if I’d just cured a rare disease.
But if I can run a mile? There’s hope for the rest of the world. Seriously.
Here’s a photo of me being a dork while stretching.