sweat. sweat. sweet sweat.

Yesterday I spooned a piece of spoon cake in my mouth. I later indulged in a late night dinner of delicious Mexican food, complete with chips and salsa aplenty. I woke up feeling like yesterday was some scene out of a dream, determined to make healthier, more productive choices. Cereal for breakfast, check. Giant water bottle of water before workout, check. And then the monster of them all, a 45 minute Turbofire workout. Maybe I exaggerate a little. This is definitely a sweat pouring workout, but I find it manageable now, especially after doing similar workouts in the program since December. It's a 90 day workout regimen, complete with nutrition advice, but I find myself working out hard for two or three days in a row, then falling off the workout wagon, only to desperately to try to stay on a week or two later. Have I lost weight? You bet. Do I feel better? Heck yes. Am I satisfied with where I'm at? No way! Until I can commit to six days a week of activity I will not rest in my head. I'm not trying to achieve any ideal physique or form anymore. I just want to be able to exercise for an hour in a tolerable fashion. I want to always feel sweet pangs of pain that make me push harder, ironically enough, but I want to always try to achieve more and better myself from the day before. Working out in a catharsis for me. My sweat is like a forgotten sister of my tears. I've cried enough tears for two or three people in this short time. Maybe that's it. Pouring out the sweat puddles gets some of my angst out, and I no longer have to sob about it. Whatever the reason for this attitude, so be it. I'm having a great time, and I check out my form in the mirror every 10 minutes or so. I look good. I feel good. Good.

Getch yo workout on today. You will feel hot and incredible when you stop and cool down. Your clothes will seem to fit better, and you wont be able to stop smiling.

Bring it on Wednesday,
Saira

PS: I collapsed on the floor after I stretched, and I looked something like this.