It seems that whenever I commit myself to working out, I only get just so far before something happens to derail me. A nasty head cold knocks me out, or back problems send me to bed.
Generally, it takes a few weeks. The momentum starts to build and I'm feeling good and then bam!
This time it took just 15 minutes.
I followed through on my pledge to hire a trainer. Ernesto and I were 15 minutes into our first session and he was working my chest and shoulders. And then I had to stop. I thought I was going to pass out.
It's said that you should eat a little something before working out. I didn't do that out of respect for my dental hygienist, with whom I had an appointment right before my training session.
I wasn't feeling 100 percent, to be honest. Upon arriving home from Panama, Andy and I both got sick with some sort of bug. An intestinal thing. (That description should suffice, don't you think?). One of our friends in Panama came down with the same thing.
But I was feeling fine enough by Tuesday to start with Ernesto. Apparently not.
Things got worse as the week went by. Little appetite, some of the symptoms returning, a lack of energy, and way too much sleep. By Friday, I finally broke down and went to the doctor. After a lively conversation about poo-poo (my doctor has a funny sense of humor; "poo-poo" was her word, not mine), she put me on some antibiotics and a bland diet (bread, rice, pasta...yay!). The whole conversation (sans poo-poo) was repeated with Andy on Saturday morning.
The antibiotics are taking their time kicking in. I've been sluggish all weekend. After a couple of errands yesterday, Andy and I came home and cut the grass and some other minor yard work. That put us down for the rest of the day (the 93 degree blazing temps might have had a little to do with it as well).
Today, I'm trying to get some project work done and rally for a dinner party this evening. I need to get past this. Ernesto is waiting.
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