Week 7 began yesterday and in case you missed it last week and the week before, I’m wicked sore.
Those slow-mo push-ups kill me.
And I was a wee bit tired yesterday and almost took the dumbbell to my face during the lay-down triceps extensions.
All’s well in the land of the people who will be in Maui soon (jealous, aren’t you?) and even more exciting (well, maybe not more exciting than Maui, but exciting), Megan’s dad will be repairing the little bits and pieces around the house (like the linen closet door that doesn’t quite shut) while we’re gone.
I’ve quit the P90X diet, because I was getting annoyed about the lack of weight loss. I can measure my own 1,500-1,800 calories a day thankyouverymuch… and no, I’m not back to the all fruit all the time diet that I used to so enjoy.
The scale has been decent to me, and I seem to be down a tad, but the long-term effects remain to be seen.
I’ve sort of given up for the moment on the weight end of things… since that was just making me crazy… and I can say that even though I’ve been busting my ass (with a couple of breaks) for the last 10 weeks and haven’t lost any weight (not bitter about that at all) I feel better, stronger, more balanced, more flexible… all of the good stuff.
I ache, but in the holy shit I lifted a lot way and not in the my couch cushions are getting a little worn out way.
I distinctly recall last year, the 6 weeks I lived at my parents, and I ached like hell. That was, decidedly, due to lack of movement, not lots of it.
