Work it Out Redux

I just got back from the gym. Seeing as it is the Monday after my final chemo (which was just last Thursday), I will own up to the fact that I am a wee bit drag-ass. But not terrible.

I still have to set the cardio on the elliptical and the exercise bike to about 60% of what I was able to do pre-surgery in early February. And I have frankly lost track of how much I downwardly adjusted the weight on the other machines. But, I haven’t had to knock them down again after I adjusted everything a few weeks ago so I am at least holding steady. That’s something. I’ll take it.

Sometimes I peek over surreptitiously at the person next to me on the cardio to try to see how many watts they are doing and just how lame I am. Being a cancer patient doesn’t make me that much less hard on myself. Because if you start going down that road of excuses, where does it end?

There is reasonable, and taking it easy and not pushing too much. And then there is just sorry-ass lame excuse making. I don’t ever want to be in the second camp. Do you?

So anyhow I have formulated a plan. It is a loose plan because I will have to play it by ear and see how I feel during radiation a/k/a radiotherapy (doesn’t that make it sound like a pleasant spa treatment involving music?). The plan goes something like this: Now that chemo is over, it is time to start ratcheting things up at the gym, little by little. So that by the time I am ready for my summer vacation, I am looking and feeling fit and strong for the beach. Even if I have to wear a mumu or a full body tent in order to protect my skin. I want muscles under that tent.

After my cardio/weight circuit this morning I moseyed on into the stretching room to see just how much those pecks have atrophied. I did ten push ups, girl-style, on my knees. Normally this would piss me off. But I know that I am not ready for the full deal. And that is okay. Because I will get there again. But I don’t want to bust anything. ┬áNo pun intended.

It is a crappy rainy day here. My husband left his raincoat at work over the weekend. Bad timing. And my older daughter decided not to wear her Wellies to school this morning even though it is the textbook day for such attire. Alas.

Are you wondering what to do on this crappy rainy day here in London, or for that matter wherever you are, be it rainy or sunny or hailing or what have you?

I’ll tell you what to do. Get off your ass and get to the gym. I haven’t reminded you in a long time (see Work It Out) and it’s about time I light another fire under that caboose of yours.

I’ll be right behind you, huffing and puffing away, killing it as much I am able to at 80 watts and climbing.

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