Remember when I blogged about doing 800 squats? Remember when I wanted to kill my husband for thinking it was a good idea for us to work out together? Remember when I whined and complained and was generally acting like a big baby?
One of the main reasons I didn’t want to work out with him was because I didn’t want him to see how far I had to go. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Unreasonable. My husband coerced me because he’s cute and he wants what’s best for me. That and I like to look at his butt in gym shorts. Anyway, I didn’t give myself any credit. I never thought that I’d go to the gym and impress my husband with how strong I am (thanks Papa for making me cut the grass all those years and not listening to my excuses to not cut it because I’m a girl. I’m a much stronger person now. Ask Hubs.) I knew that I was stronger than I looked from all those years of martial arts. I knew I had muscles somewhere dormant in my body. And oh, OH. My husband woke them up.
I am writing this today as a new woman. Not a smaller woman (yet), but a new one. After those first few work outs with the Hubs I started to feel a lot better. Energized, strong, capable. Now, as I write this I WANT to go to the gym. I haven’t been in a few days due to allergies getting me down. I’m itching to move. I’m ready to get out there and MOVE IT MOVE IT as the song says.
Am I converted?
(PLEASE GOD SAY I’M CONVERTED!)