This morning, my totally kickass husband updated his status on Facebook like this:
That tremendously badass compliment is doubly-awesome when you know that at the time, I was in my pajamas (velour leopard print bottoms trimmed around the ankle with pink lace, XXL long-sleeved Social Distortion t-shirt with a bleach mark on the sleeve, black workout socks), lamely huffing and puffing through situps, squats, and pushups on the tumbling mat I keep in the corner of the Glamour Room.
Not exactly action hero stuff.
Especially when you consider that I’d been crying in the bathroom just a few minutes earlier. After hitting the snooze bar THREE times and bargaining with myself about whether or not I should go to the gym for so long, I’d run out of time for that to be a real possibility.
In desperation – and feeling like if I didn’t move my body I would lose my mind – I climbed out of bed (for the third time… yes, I went through the entire process of prying myself out of bed then diving back under the covers THREE times), plopped the mat on the floor, and started on my first set of squats before I could think about it any further.
20 air squats
Smudge tried to help me about halfway through. Surprisingly, her sniffing my elbow didn’t improve my pushups much. My last-ditch-effort-WOD took about 15 minutes, and honestly, it wasn’t my best contribution to the CrossFit canon, but I didn’t feel any worse after I’d done it than I did before. And I might have felt marginally better. At least I was no longer cold: I had to switch to a short-sleeved shirt (silver foil skull & crossbones) after the first round.
Let’s take a look at the stats:
3 snooze alarms
3 in-and-out of bed
1 crying jag
2 pajama outfits
50 pushups (plus 5 bonus diamond pushups and 10 attempts at one-handed)
1 best-in-class husband
1 annoying-but-cute cat
A day could start worse.
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