I didn’t want to do it. I really didn’t want to do it, but I had no choice. Too many potato pancakes, dinners out, and not enough exercise all added up to extra post-holiday pounds. So now I’m once again dragging my much flabbier ass out of bed at an ungodly early hour to work out with Tony Horton while listening to his tired old jokes that are still just as lame as the first time that I heard it.
I’m also retreating to the low-carb, high protein diet that goes along with the P90X workout. It basically consists of an egg white omelette for breakfast, salad for lunch, and a sensible dinner. I’m also once again severely cutting back on my alcohol consumption. No wonder I’m cranky.
It’s amazing how long it takes you to get in shape, and how little time it takes to get out of it. I admit, I’ve gone totally off the rails when it comes to my diet, but I’ve still been lacing up my running shoes and hitting the road a couple of times a week so I thought I wouldn’t be back to square one with P90X. I thought wrong.
I started it bright and early Monday morning, and two days later I still can’t lift my arms above my head. I’m in pain. A lot of pain. Let’s not even talk about my abs. Ok, I changed my mind. Let’s talk about them. It hurts to laugh. It hurts to cry. It just hurts.
And still I’m determined. I have plans to get begrudgingly get back out of bed early tomorrow morning and do yoga with Tony. I may however, have to mute him.
Wish me luck!