Workouts so far have done one of two things:

They can knock you down while you are in the midst of them or they can lull you into a false sense of security and make you cry like a little girl the next morning.

I'm at the whole little girl/next morning thing today. I woke up an hour late and not able to make the bed. Obviously, my arms, shoulders and core had words with my quads and hamstrings regarding their recent parking lot debacle and so a coup was staged overnight while I slept with the dead. I was able to thwart their attempt at revolution after about an hour of consciousness, some stretching, breakfast and children chasing.

Last nights' workout did not involve all the same muscle groups as Friday.

Hallelujah!

With a strategy of not thinking about anything, but the next rep, I moved through the routine pretty well for all the hurt involved. It was a good hurt. I tore my knees up on the mats rolling prone to back, again and again, but I didn't notice until later. I dipped, lifted, broad jumped, and other stuff that I can't remember the name of now, though I do remember their effect with great clarity.

I'll say it again: IT ROCKED!


When I got in there, the same trainer who asked me, if I wanted my check back the last time, wanted to know how I was doing. She bird dogged me around the gym and brought in reinforcements when I was to hang off a twelve foot bar and lift knees to elbows until it felt like my guts were going to burst out of my bellybutton--it was about that time I noticed my bloody knees.


The trainer called in an assistant and they both tried to look nonchalantly fascinated with the gym stereo near the high bar I was hanging off of. I recognized the body language of a nervous mother watching her 3 year old on a play scape. I also recognized how ready they were making themselves to keep me from cracking my head on the concrete under the bars should I loose my grip. Since they had the playground mom thing down well enough I went ahead and played the part of oblivious three year old.

CF, so far, has been marked with these extreme moments where I find myself wanting so much to accomplish something that I am sure it is that will and not my body that makes it happen. Well-- at least in this case I was able to make it happen. I am eating it enough in workouts to know when I will 'eat it' is determined on a case by case basis. I climbed up to reach the bar, did my reps and got down without splattering myself on the concrete underneath. Whew. It felt like I had climbed Everest, in obscurity, of course, but who the hell cares?

As an aside,

and

because I have had some questions off blog this morning,

I thought I would offer some testimony since the questions bear answering.

I am not only using my own experience, but also my friend Mike's. He's been working CF for quite a few years. From what I gather he is a monster in the CF gym and his reputation precedes him in certain circles. I can talk it fine enough,but he has walked it already.

To begin, the evidence of CF in action, a picture is, afterall, worth a thousand words--was watching Mike with the kids at the beach a couple of weeks ago. The loved his level of physicality with them.







I forgot how much fun it was to be strong and play with them so hard, but after taking on all those beach house steps and carrying all the boxes of food and luggage and noticing the huge black an blue marks from those boxes slamming into my thighs as I climbed, I realized how much I needed to make a change.

I ran and jumped in the surf, too. The kids and I went for walks, chased birds, picked up shells and just generally raced up and down the beach--but I paid dearly later. Tony has also always been in fairly decent shape, he too was able to run and toss the kids around. Though since the visit I think it sits on the back of his mind that he'd like to make some changes,too. I agree with him. Being fit is another way to connect with our kids. I saw it in great evidence as I watched Mike slice through surf with 125 pound of kiddos slung across shoulders and under arms like they were the odd pieces of flotsam and the water was air.

They_had_a_blast.

It struck a chord.


It's why I am driving 45 minutes to a bad neighborhood and walking out of there with bloody knees, covered in sweat and dirt with my ponytail coming out of my left ear .

LOL.


Mike says I should ask the trainers what kind of odds they are offering on me--you know, see if I can get in on the action.


I believe I will.