|I love floor to ceiling mirrors|
While I was warming up on the treadmill my trainer walked in to the gym and asked how long I'd been on the treadmill. "Seven and a half minutes!" I chirped. He leaned in, sniffed my armpit, and pronounced "Not long enough!"
30 second rope slams
10 reverse pull ups (sloooooooooooooow on the down part)
5 chest presses on a machine at a stupidly hard weight
15 squat to overhead raises
15 (per side) low to high wood choppers
Not going to lie, I was a whiny bitch this whole session. I guess my weekend finally caught up to me because I was mother fucking tired, and it showed. At one point I accused my trainer of making the workout extra hard to punish me for almost catching him during Saturday's race. I almost threatened to fart on him, tried to stall in between every exercise, and almost cried during the wood choppers because there were so many different things to remember, and I couldn't seem to do it right.
Yeah, I was a real joy to be around. Sunshine and roses up in here.
Clearly I need a rest day.
I left my bike with my trainer after the mud run, and had him drive me home, because the idea of biking home after the race seemed kind of awful. Now that I've reclaimed it, I have to ride it. I should probably do some intervals and some bike commuting this week. I enjoy it while I'm doing it, so why do I dread it so much?
Oh, because it doesn't come easy to me, and I hate having to TRY. Yeah. That.
Whine whine whine.