So, I've finished day 2 of the FXB challenge. That leaves a mere 58 to go. That makes me wimper a little. I mean, I get that it's a lifestyle change, but why can't it be successful after 48 hours? Zit creams work that fast. We feel better after two days of antibiotics. I've recovered from monster hangovers in that timespan. So, why not, after a day of cardio kickboxing that made me dizzy with fatigue and a workout that can only be defined as torture (but really Resistant Training), can I not look like a supermodel capable of ass kicking?
Because I'm the living example of what I tell my children daily: Life's not fair.
I want so desperately to remain eloquent and refined throughout this blog adventure, but as I sit here, icing a calf, stinking like Ben Gay and hoping my arms don't literally fall off, all I can think of are words that rhyme with truck, spit, block pucker, brother clucker and fun of a ditch. There is no eloquence when it involves sweating like a pig and involuntarily grunting while stretching a resistant band, also known as the devil's toy. For 45 straight minutes during class today, a stream of the most obscene and depraved words and phrases went through my head. I'm no lady during this challenge. And I guess I'm not supposed to be.
I guess you can figure out how it's going so far - exactly how it's supposed to go. I'm using muscles I wasn't aware existed in my body, creating new swear words in my head, gasping for air after cardio, learning how to like celery and wobbling around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Which I guess means, I'm doing it right. And already - I'm looking forward to tomorrow's class. That says something.
But damn! It's a pain in my brother clucking ass! (And everywhere else.)
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