Skip to main content

The McRib is… Broke. Or maybe just sore.

So Hubbins and I have joined a gym near our house.


I know I know… "It's a waste of money", "you have a free gym at work", "are you actually going to use it?!" blah blah blah. I know.

And I don't care. Neener neener!
Buuuut. 1) We got a stupid good deal on it and paid less than ½ of what we would have if the membership hadn't been through his job. 2) Paying for a year-long gym membership IS motivating, because I don't want to just watch our money disappear. 3) I honestly just hate going in the middle of the day at work.

So anywho. The gym we joined is faaantastic. It's shiny and pretty and has a pool and it brings all the happies to the yard. Or beefcakes to the weight room. Or fatties to the lifting area (like me! =D ).

As a pseudo-segue, have I told you guys how ridiculously skilled I am at hurting myself? No seriously. I managed to dislocate my knee in my sleep. In. My. Sleep. I truly am a master, and I don't even mean to be. That's how good I am.

So anyway, I managed to hurt my rib in quite the mysterious fashion on Saturday night/Sunday morning. I don't know how, I don't know what I did, all I know is I woke up with excruciating pain in my rib in a very localized spot. Then I'd move and it was gone. Then I'd move and it'd come back. In the last few days since, it's generally fine, but it still hurts depending on certain moves.

Naturally, I saw this as an excuse not to go to the gym. But I'm torn, right? I need to go to the gym. In some deep recess of my body, I want to go to the gym. Buuuut Rib. RIB! My little riblet! It's wounded! I can't go hurt it more!

Unfortunately my mom (albeit wonderful) is incredibly unsympathetic with her torn knee and need to walk half-marathons. Thanks for the support, WOMAN. (My mom's my bestie. I love her hard, don't let her convince you otherwise) She was all, "GO TO THE GYM. GO. YOU'RE ALREADY THERE. JUST GO.", and I was all "I CAN BE HERE ANYTIME I WANT! I LIVE A MILE AND A HALF DOWN THE ROAD!". Sadly, moms know best (even when you're old and married) and I went inside.

I skipped on Monday, but after my pseudo argument and fake whining with my mom, I dragged myself and my wounded Ribbie inside the gym. I did the treadmill for a brisk 22-ish minutes and felt pretty good with that. Tonight I'm going to try to go again after I pick up a prescription, and do some leg workouts. Word around the mama is that leg stuff shouldn't hurt Riblet more, but who knows. Mom may be preparing me for my doom and I don't even know.

Wish me luck tonight friends, as Ribbles and I attempt the gym even though I want to whine and lay on the couch drinking chai and staring at our Christmas tree. (Yeah that's up, it's been up since Saturday)

How are you all doing? Meet any new goals lately?? Fall off the wagon? 
Mysteriously hurt your body in the middle of the night?

<3
A Redhead

Comments

  1. Mom is good....Mom is wise.....

    I've still been dealing with Hammy, believe it or not. And yes, the torn baby bovine is still not completely healed. The doctor started to say something about not healing as fast as you get older but, oddly, she stopped talking as my fist approached....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. HA. "Torn baby bovine"….

      The doctor sounds wise. ;)

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Shame Eating

I found the above image on the interwebs and it always makes me laugh. All.the.time. It's kinda true though, right? IF you've ever had any kind of food addiction then you know the sweet sweet embrace of "one more" handful of kettle corn (ahem), or "one more" piece of bread, or whatever . I was joking with my co-worker that I might as well be shame eating out of the Costco-sized bag of Kettle corn on my counter in the dark, licking the sweet and salty remnants off my fingers. That I can't be trusted alone with it. That I grab a bigger-than-small bowl and PILE it up, lamenting the few rogue pieces that make it to the floor. Another colleague overheard us and said she used to do that with angel food cake. She would sit it on the passenger side and just drive, picking at the fluffy confection. I know a girl who could knock out an entire family size container of Sara Lee pound cake. So friends, those are a few confessions. Using the powers of anonym

Of pizza and fudge [cake]

There comes a time in every girl's life when she has to make a choice. 1 slice or 2? "It's margherita pizza, redhead. How bad can it really be?" I stood in line at a local pizza place eyeing up their margherita pizza with it's circular discs of cheese, smattering of tomatoes, and dried basil leaves. "Yeah, how bad can  it be?" Sometimes in life you order 2 pieces. Sometimes those 2 pieces come out to you falling off of 2 paper plates. Sometimes you look and say "SWEET MERCY I'M ONLY EATING ONE OF THOSE!!". Today was not a day to only eat one of those. Well to be fair, it was, I just didn't bother to acknowledge that until I'd plowed my way through ½ of my second  slice. I can sit here and rationalize that I dabbed up a TON of oil, and it's thin crust, and blah blah blah, but bottom line… There was also chocolate fudge cake .  I know, right? I looked at the cake I'd said I'd split with my wonderful

What's Your Excuse?

I can't find my sneakers. It's too hot out. My clothes are all dirty. Where's my gym bag? I can't find my sports bra. (grumble grumble grumble) So what's your excuse for not working out? The top [lame] excuse has been mine the last few weeks. Since we moved into our house, I literally cannot find my sneakers. I thought they were in my gym bag, which I also couldn't find, but once my husband (hehe) found the bag, I discovered there were still no  gym sneakers. I've been living a blissful yet slightly fearful state for the last month-ish because I haven't weighed or measured myself since before the wedding. I also haven't worked out since before the wedding. You understand my fear now, right? That's right, I resort to candy too. But the time is nigh. Last night Hubbins and I went to a running store and we each got fitted for fancy new sneakers. The girls were both super helpful: they had us stand on this fancy lit