Let's Call It Re-Decision

So, yeah.  I've started a few workout programs in the past and not finished them.  And perhaps (in the past) this was due to laziness or boredom.  Maybe.  Now, however, I find I must change up because the program is not meeting my expectations.  As in, the sucka's too damn easy.

I figured P90X Doubles would work fabulously for me, as it is currently the only program I own that Hubby agrees to do with me (and we all want him to work out, right?).  Turns out, Cardio X ain't got nothin' on my girl Chalene and TurboFire.  So, I am creating my very own little hybrid of P90X Doubles and TurboFire and marathon training, tweaking the schedules from day to day to fit my needs.  At first, I felt like I was quitting, yet again.  But I caught myself.  I can't help that I have become this awesome and need more of achallenge than Tony offers with Cardio X.  Nor is it Mr. Horton's fault that I am such an insatiable cardio machine.  We can all get along, as I am not abandoning P90X completely - keeping the lifting sessions, Plyo, and (every now and again) Kenpo X.  But on those days when I'm not running and the schedule calls for some cardio - I am turning to Chalene and her booty-shakin' bad assedness.  (It's a word because I said so.)

I love returning to TF after time away.  Fire 55 EZ is my benchmark workout, allowing me to truly recognize how far I have come since I first started my Beachbody journey a little over a year ago.  The first time I attempted this particular workout, I thought I might die.  I struggled through, modifying any step I could modify and thanking the gods of modification for their offerings.  Now...ha.  Now, I wear weighted gloves (which are so worn out that the velcro keeps coming undone) and am contemplating moving up from 1 lb to 2 lbs.  Because now, those extra pounds don't feel so extra.  Yes, readers...I have guns.  And they are begging for more ammunition.  I don't modify anymore.  Instead, I impress myself and my children with my amazing tuck jumps, frog jumps, and air jacks.  I look forward to the one-minute fire drills, the incredibly fast-paced and lung crunching sections of each TF video.  I am also anticipating the delivery of my brand spankin' new TF workouts later this week on the Keep On Burnin' DVD.  More Chalene? More punches/kicks/shakes/squats/speedbags?  YES, PLEASE! 

And the marathon training continues as well, with early morning runs beginning this week as the sunrise is finally on my side.  This Saturday calls for twenty miles and lots o' planning for water and fuel and route changes.  I have never run quite so far, but I find I am not nervous.  I'm freakin' EXCITED.  Seeing how far I've progressed just pumps up my confidence and inflates my ego (if you can believe there was any more room for inflation). 

My next big challenge in my training?  Backing away from the cheesecake/chocolate/nutella/crescent rolls and immersing myself in Shakeology/veggies/fruits/proteins.  I need to start fueling my body for the more intense training.  Blah blah blah.  It's the hardest part of Fit Living for this food lovin' gal, but I know in my stomach of stomachs it must be done.  To hold myself accountable, be prepared for photos and menus on a daily basis.  I am vowing to share this journey as well, whether you find it interesting or not.  (For the record, if you don't care, keep your ennui to yourself.  I prefer to pretend everyone is watching.)

So - to recap - it's not indecision, it's re-dicision.  And I will be touting the blessings of Beachbody as I start new TF workouts and increase my shake consumption.  And I don't care if you don't care.  Happy Monday!

No, seriously - happy Monday!  I just kicked 55 minutes of TF ass and will be lifting with Tony and Hubby tonight (back and biceps and ab ripper X).  That's a pretty freakin' good day, endorphin-wise.  I double dog dare you to tell me otherwise.

Quit Is A Four Letter Word

Motivation has been discussed many times over, but it bears another once over.  Because, boy, did I fight to find it today.  Pink eye didn't help matters.  Not so much because of the irritation/puss/inflamation, but because I just don't feel quite so badass in my glasses.  Plus, I was tired.  I was sore from yesterday's double session.  I missed my morning run and my shower.  (Don't stand too close...)  Whine whine whine, moan moan moan.  (I would add "blah blah blah," but for various reasons, it has been deemed a curse word here at the M&M Estate, so I'd better not say it.)

ANYWAY - I just didn't feel it tonight.  Actually, I didn't feel it at any point today.  Nor could I rely on my E&E to get me goin' as it was so close to bedtime (and I'm pretty sure they have somehow put Tony Horton's energy into powder form with that stuff).  But, I am also fully aware that I cannot tout the benefits of commitment if I myself am not committed (to a program, people.  The institution can wait another couple of years).  I will not gain the biceps, abs, or buns of steel if I don't put the time in.  So, I finally sent the kiddos to bed halfway through American Idol with the promise of putting in their votes and finishing up tomorrow, changed into my workout gear, and pressed play.  I made it all the way through P90X Shoulders & Arms and most of the way through Ab Ripper X (my legs stopped me, weary from that Plyo workout yesterday).  I sweated.  I guzzled my water.  I sweated some more.  (Hubby may insist that I also make up for that missed shower.)  So, how do I feel now?

Still tired.  Still unmotivated.  But a hell of lot less guilty.  I know that when my head hits the pillow, the only thing on my mind will be Stephen Colbert for the five minutes I manage to watch before I zonk out.  I will not be rethinking the rest of the week's workout schedule to make up what I've missed or searching for justifications as to why I missed it when I know I was perfectly capable of just doing it.  It wasn't my most enjoyable workout moment, but I did it.  My arms are drooping far below the keyboard as I type this and I barely remember my point...but I do remember that I accomplished the goal set for today and that brings me closer to the goal I have set for next month and this summer. 

So...my point...My point is this: If your only excuse is you're tired, that's not an excuse.  That's a cop out.  If your only excuse is you're not motivated, that's not an excuse either.  Motivated doesn't mean following through only when you're so pumped to work out that you can't stand still.  Motivated is pushing play, going to class, heading out for that run even when you don't want to do it.  The only person that can talk you out of your goal is YOU.

Whiny Little Son of a Shin

It rained Saturday.  I had big plans - 16 miles.  And I don't mind a little cooling rain while I run.  So I waited until things faded to a light drizzle and started piling on my gear while Hubby mixed my E&E Formula and filled my water bottles.  I was genuinely excited to tackle my longest run to date, as that would provide me with my biggest bragging rights to date.  Plus, that marathon is getting closer and I still have little itty bitty nagging worries buzzing in the darker corners of my otherwise enthusiastic brain.  So, sixteen miles.  Or eight.  Eight's good, right?  Because that's what I eked out before I had to call in backup.

Maybe it was the cold.  Maybe it was the rain.  Maybe it was the two together.  Whatever the (f&*#ing) reason, my right shin was not in the mood for a good long run.  Apparently, it would rather have been home soaking in a warm bath and reading Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter.  I tuned it out much the same way I tune out the incessant whining of children when we are trapped in the house for hours at a time in such weather.  (I mean, really, how many times must I pretend to care that she gave a mean look or he refuses to stop speaking like Yoda?)  My cardio was fabulous; my knees were showing solid improvement and no need to even take a break.  I had my intervals up to 4:1 and I really didn't feel like I even needed the 1 (but I was being responsible and knew I needed to keep it if I wanted to finish my sixteen).  So what if my shin was whining about my foot hitting the road?  It needed to buck up, buttercup!  I only have so much time available for this sort of training.

But my shin seems to be as bullheaded as my daughter.  When it was unable to garner enough attention through tiny tweaks and pulls, it gave an all-out shriek a try.  Guess what?  That worked.  I stopped.  I walked.  I did (or tried to do) shin taps to work it out.  And I eavesdropped on the debate between my Ego and my Sensibility.  Ego was all for working through it (no pain, no gain!), but Sensibility felt we should all stop acting like crazy women on the side of the road, muttering and walking in circles, and just call Hubby for a ride home.  I weighed the bragging rights of one training session vs. actually being able to finish training and actually running my race, and I decided one day was not nearly the equivalent of the whole shabang.  Hubby was phoned and arrived like a knight in shining minivan, replete with little people to do my bidding. 

So, my shin is fine.  I have rested for two days now and am ready to get back in the game.  Tomorrow, we have Plyometrics on the schedule and I will not be outdone by the one-legged man.  And this weekend, I will once again attempt my longest run ever.  If you'd rather not hear me go on and on about myself and how far I can go, might I suggest doing a little rain dance?

What the...?!?!

Okay, so I posted the photos...I can see the difference.  I can feel the difference.  But I made Hubby do my measurements because I just had to compare...and I actually gained inches and pounds.  So...how come?  And yes, that was meant to be read in a whiney, petulant, and quite immature manner, because that was my exact reaction.  How can I be further from the goals I set for myself when I have been working so diligently?  I made him remeasure for good measure.  I briefly considered that we may have a faulty tape measure.  I nearly became disheartened.  BUT...

When I began this journey, I maxed out at ten pushups on my knees.  And that was on a good day.  Now, I can bust out fifteen on my toes - and follow that set up with some military style, wide angle, decline, and divebomber pushups, still on my toes.  My five-pound weights are pretty dusty because they've haven't been touched in weeks.  I can run 14.5 miles and still play outside all afternoon with my kids.  I no longer strain to touch my toes, because instead, I am touching the floor during stretches.  Instead of modifying shorter cardio workouts, I'm busting out every move at the top of the class - TWICE A FREAKIN' DAY. 

So, my little pity party is over.  We don't pity the Awesome.  We are not sad for the Incredible.  And I'm pretty sure I'm both of those right now (I'm riding a pretty intense P90X Plyometrics high).  As I've said before, my goals, they are a-changin'.  Sometimes I just need to use my newly developed quads to deliver a swift kick into my own firm ass as a reminder.  The bikini will come, but the better stuff is coming first.