I am relatively fit. At least I think I am. I can’t run marathons and I can get out of breath after the 3rd flight of stairs. But I do have a gym membership. And I do use it. Usually.
I recently spent 3 weeks in Australia with the aim of working out at least 3 times a week; I packed my trainers and sports bra. I was good to go. But, honestly, I was in AUSTRALIA and it was AWESOME. Screw working out. There were so many things to see, do… and eat. Delicious, bad for you, wonderful things. Least it meant I had less washing to do.
Anyway I got back and was jet lagged for a week and then it was Easter (I was sort of good; I got no Easter eggs so ate popcorn. And steak. And chips… Oops). So I have only recently trudged back to the gym. And it hurts. Soo much.
Now I actually like having DOMs. It makes me feel smug. It makes me feel like I actually did something worthy of a potentially gorgeous body, which I will have. Eventually.
I work out specific muscle groups on different days: Mon – cardio, Tues – chest, shoulders & triceps, Wed – rest day or dance class, Thu – leg day and Fri – back & biceps. Weekends are rest/eating/drinking days. So last Thursday was my first leg day. In 6 weeks. I was chuffed to find I haven’t lost much of my strength. But it was hard. And tiring. And difficult. Friday I woke up with DOMs and spent the day walking like I had a stick up my butt. And today, if I sit too long, my hamstrings seize and I have to hobble until they relax.
But I love it. I truly do love working out and going to the gym. I don’t care if I’m a sweaty mess, grunting and panting and looking an absolute state. At the gym I can accomplish something. I can work towards a bigger goal. And that is worth all the muscle ache it can throw at me.