Ayyyy Dios Mio

So I rolled over round about 3am; an almost instinctual body movement at this point which reminds me that I've had too much water before falling asleep. I move to shimmy my down the end of the bed, around my snoring boyfriend (believe me, there's plenty of nights when I'd like to just climb right over and wake his ass up as a reward for putting me in the bitch spot, but I don't this time) and it hits me. OH my f'ing god, the pain. My abdominal walls feel like I've been prison shanked on every inch of muscle, my legs are suddenly wobbly in ways they weren't before I laid down to sleep, my trapezius is throbbing...; and then I remember, I hired a new personal trainer. I'm PAYING someone to feel exquisite pain in the core parts of my body.

I suspect it will not go on this way. I suspect that the throbbing I've got from head to toe that's making going down steps as equally uncomfortable, if not moreso than going up them, will subside in time. I have a distinct feeling that the punishment I'm receiving now has more to do with months of inactivity than the workout I completed yesterday. But still.....DAMN.

I hired a new trainer because I have difficulty with self-motivation. When I was skinny I had trouble with self-motivation. This is not rocket science to me. I chose a trainer my friend had been with for the past nine months rather than to scroll the tombs of Craigslist again, or go skulking back to HRC or Equinox. It also helps that this trainer charges less than any Manhattan trainer I've seen, and the gym membership is discounted to boot.

Essentially, I decided in the last week I was done being controlled by my wobbly bits. Upon suffering tear-saturated glances in the mirror, I finally said NO MORE. If I had the courage to cut my belly open and have a band surgically placed around my tummy, I can get to a trainer and reduce the likelihood I will need plastics. I can work my ass off and get to the goal weight and fat percentage I want to be.

I will become one of those women who trot proudly naked through the locker room on the way to the shower, their saggy breasts and cellulite a glaring reminder that they too are not perfect, but are more accepting of the way they look. (But hey, If I choose to continue to hide, I fit in just one of those gym towels now instead of two- hallelujah)

My ass hurts today...my calves...my thights...my forearms...hell, I think even my toes hurt from the calf curls. But by some strange token, I feel better.