Two days ago I
mixed some plyometrics into my workout routine.
Today, my legs
are so flippin' sore it hurts to move. It almost hurts to think about moving.
Every day at
work, I try to get up from my desk at least once an hour to walk around the building.
Today, I'd
like to sit at my desk all eight hours and rest, just rest. Actually, I'd love
to take a nap, Costanza style.
Hey, the boss isn’t
here… Never mind. I'm sure someone would snitch when she returns.
If only I
could go back to my warm, comfortable bed, sleep in between those 700-thread
count sheets my mother-in-law got us for Christmas. That would be so nice.
Yesterday, I
returned to work after being away from the office for 13 glorious days.
13 Days!
Do you know
how great it is to sleep in for 13 straight days?
I really paid
for that mini vacation of laziness yesterday when it was once again time to
drag myself out of bed at 5 a.m.
Yuck a duck!
Oh, and the
plyo did me no short-term favors.
I turn 42 in
less than two weeks, but today I feel 62. Kobe Bryant would say I'm old
as s**t.
I need to get
my act together if I'm ever going to reach my goal of living to 104.
What do I
need?
More sleep. A
better diet – no more sugary drinks. More exercise. Yes, ever more plyometrics.
I know. I
know. This sounds like a New Year's resolution, but it's not really. This is my
everyday struggle. The day, the time of year doesn't matter. This is the crap I
remind myself of everyday… usually after downing a Starbucks Frappuccino.
It's time, I
guess… no, I know, to get better. I'm not in horrible shape, but I'm not nearly
where I'd like to be. And I'm quickly, at 41 years and 11 and a half months,
getting worse.
So, yes,
dammit, it is time to get better… before I fall over the physical cliff.
Or sign with
the Lakers.
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