I'll wait. Take your time.
I have an athletic injury.
That's right. Me. Athletic injury. Yeah.
If I didn't think it would do further damage, I'd do a little jump for joy. 'Cause I'm kinda digging the fact that I hurt myself working out.
Blame it on the shoes.
I have been working with a personal trainer now for about six weeks. Finally, finally, finally got serious about getting in shape and re-discovering my figure. And it's paying off. There are five plus inches less of me in the waist and counting -- and that's the only measurement we've been taking regularly at the moment. But I'm the Proportionately Incredibly Shrinking Woman, per my trainer -- every time I get out of the car to meet her, she says she notices a difference.
We're working together five days a week (told you I'd gotten serious) at a local park. No stuffy sweaty gyms for us. We walk, do stretching and other toning exercises as we go and then head to a pavilion to do more circuit training-type things. Instead of sitting my fat ass down to eat at a picnic table, I'm lying on top of it, doing crunches.
And seeing results.
However, my footwear and its considerable age have become problematic. Basically, the shoes are shot. And I have plantar fasciitis in my right foot as a yucky by-product of such.
Sum'bitch hurts, y'all.
However, I'm adhering to the illegitimis non carborundum concept -- not gonna let this bastard thing get me down. I've stretched, massaged, rolled my foot on a frozen water bottle, elevated and rested. So far, so good. It's better than it was, but still not great. I shall prevail. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain anyway -- remember, I'm the chick who walked around in premature labor for three days. It takes a lot to render me helpless (if I put my mind to it, anyway.)
So I'm taking it easy, at least for the next couple of days. Gonna focus on the toning rather than the cardio. Not a bad thing. Oh -- new shoes -- on tap for tomorrow. My trainer (who I ADORE, if you couldn't tell by now) is going with me to help me make the best choice for my needs. And what girl doesn't love shoe shopping with a galpal? Seriously.
Meanwhile, I'm going to embrace my pain just a bit. And hone that tone of pride in my voice that I'll use when someone says "Hey -- you look like you're limping? What did you do?"
Hope they're prepared for my answer. Boo-yah!