I made it through my third class today. I honestly don't know how. The man seriously loves squats and lunges. My lower body feels like it's being ripped in half. My calves feel like I have tiny pieces of glass that stab me every time I take a step. My inner thighs hurt so incredibly bad when I sit down. BUT, today he didn't make us do abs! So that's a plus. Instead we had to do 50+ squats, push-ups, and medicine ball lifts. And that was just the cool down. That was after sprints, boxing, kicking, lunges, squats, bear crawls, frog jumps, crab walking, burpees, and various other exercises that are just plain torturous! The highlight of this whole experience is having a trainer who will push me every single second. I burn 500+ calories in an hour. I sweat so much I look like I've been out in the rain for an hour. But it's actually fun! The people I go with are fun. The trainer is fun! After we were done today we were all talking about tattoos. These are my people.
That being said, I didn't even want to get out of bed today. I've gained 2 lbs since this week. I'm angry and frustrated at the scale. And yet, because I love this torture of a workout, I still wanted to go. Most days I'm really ok. I don't ever feel like I want to drive my car off the road and I'm not tempted to get a bottle of vodka and sit in a corner and drink. I haven't taken anything for depression or anxiety for a couple of months now and most days I'm ok. I have my moments, but overall I think I've done well. This morning was one of those moments where I just wished I didn't care. I wish I could just not care about my weight and be ok with the slow moving scale. That's not me. I care. I want to throw the damn thing out the window sometimes and it does affect me.
I feel better after a workout and a shower. I'm still mad at the scale. I'm working my butt off and there is nothing I want more than to be back to my "normal" weight. I'm trying. I'm trying really, really hard. I don't know what else I could possibly do.
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