Pride, agony, and the unexpected benefits of noodly arms

After nearly three weeks of painful shoulder exercises EVERY GODDAMN DAY, I’m proud to report I’m up to using 5-pound weights. (Insert painful sobbing here.) It’s more than a little depressing to know that six short weeks ago, I was just 10 pounds from my goal of bench pressing 135 pounds. Now, I’m hoisting 5-pounders and struggling.

Nevertheless, there have been some unexpected benefits of losing all my hard-earned upper body muscle mass. All my shirts are baggier in the arms and shoulders, and I can now scratch the middle of my back unassisted.

Dougal was all smiles after our long trail run.

Also, running is easier without having to haul my Hulk Hogan-ness around. I did 8.19 miles of trail running yesterday and I didn’t die. In fact, I only walked twice and it was only for about 10 feet each time. Not bad at all. I’m a bit stove up today, but it feels like all my lower body plyometrics and cardio have paid off…even if my upper body is melting into certain noodle-ness.

In other news:

• I’m going to a wedding next weekend (the first of four in the next six months). I think if you attend a dozen consecutive weddings that aren’t your own, you should get a free tote bag or something. I’ve been buying a whole lot of gifts and none of my own towels match. There’s a flaw in this system!

• I just got an email from someone named Tiffanie. Uh, I don’t think so. Delete. No one named Tiffanie has anything important to say.  I wish there was a spam filter for people with stupid names.

• I wish I weren’t such a snob about stupid stuff.

• Something in this month’s Shape magazine really resonated with me. A gal who lost a ton of weight said that maintaining a healthy diet and exercise program were really hard, but so was being fat. “You gotta pick your hard,” she said. I love that. It’s so true. In the face of office donuts and the overwhelming desire to initiate Ice Cream Fridays (and Pizza Saturdays and Tater Tot Sundays), I’m telling myself I gotta pick my hard. It’s my new mantra. Plus, it kinda sounds dirty, which is funny.

• The grossest thing I’ve said so far today: “I think I got barbecue sauce on my bandaid.” Ewww.

Happy Monday!

The Sore Shoulder/PT Blues (and some dog photos)

After a brief physical therapy honeymoon phase, the glow is officially gone. During my appointment last Thursday evening, the series of daily stretches I began in my first session exploded to a 45-minute routine of painful stretching, agonizing strength exercises, and more painful stretching. It’s bumming me out. I don’t have an extra 45 minutes in my day to do something so miserable. My schedule is already packed with miserable. I need the addition of 45 daily minutes of awesome, please.

Since that’s not really possible at this sore shoulders moment, here are a few pictures of my dogs.