I can't move; I'm stiff all over. Something beneath my skin just keeps burning and aching. I think the medical term those crazy whitecoats use is "overworked muscles". But what do they know? Feels like rigor mortis to me.
Am I too young to be searching WebMD for hernias? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I have one of those, too.
Who in the world came up with this accursed idea anyway?
Oh, now I remember.
Friend? Bah! I use that term loosely.
But it's not really Cami's fault. It appears that I have a magic breaking point on the elliptical. (Note to Dapoppins: an elliptical trainer is a common torture device which utilizes the walking motion of a treadmill, and the climbing motion of a stair stepper.)
45 minutes on that bad boy feels fine.
50 minutes=worst. pain. imaginable.*
(*excludes childbirth, 'cause that certainly weren't no picnic neither. And also impalement with a rusty spike. Probably not pleasant. Same with being burned alive. Ouch. But other than that, 50 minutes on the elliptical=the worst.)
And can I just say--Wii boxing? Kicks my ass.
All that dodging and jabbing? Probably looked ridiculous, too. Good thing I was alone.
My husband lurves the boxing, and he's really good at it, but I could do without my son learning colorful phrases like:
- "You want a piece of me?"
- "Time to take out the garbage."
- "I'm gonna beat you down and make you cry."
- "Take that, sucka!"
Yes, my husband sure could make the Sharks and the Jets run for cover for fear of a smartly choreographed beatdown with his hardened gangsta vernacular.
(I just hope he gets out of that life before something terrible happens...like an off-Broadway tour of understudies. Jeepers!)
Well, I won't be taking him on anytime soon. Maybe if they made a version of shuffleboard for the Wii, I could manage something like that.
No. On second thought, I don't think I could.
When blogging is too painful, you know you're in bad shape.