This is what happens when you are over-enthusiastic in life. If enthusiasm were a cutlet, I'd be a giant one, deep-fried many times over. The lesson I learned over the past three days: never take your body for granted.
You can push yourself only up to a point. Beyond that point, remember you're not Hercules, He-Man, or whichever hulky "He's" exist in the world (ooh, Hulk! I just remembered him because I wrote "hulky").
As I was saying: breathe, marvel at what you can do, but pushing on a day when you've already pushed yourself is probably not the greatest idea. Today, I didn't even look at my higher weights. I just stuck to the humble 2 kilos in both hands and accepted both the pain and the defeat.
At the end of my workout, my trainer lectured me for 15 solid minutes on the evils of eating Rajaram's Butter Murukku every evening to satiate my soul. I looked at her the way Skeletor would look at Evil-Lyn. She was my Evil-Lyn in that moment, and this Skeletor wasn't laughing—no, I was huffing and panting instead.
At 39 and a half years old, a mother to a 7 and a half year old, and definitely perimenopausal, perhaps I shouldn't behave like a 21-year-old when it comes to my workouts. To quote Barnabas Collins—the 200-year-old vampire played by Johnny Depp in Dark Shadows: "You must put those birthing hips to good use at once... lest your womb shrivel up and die." And, "She has the most fertile birthing hips I have ever laid eyes upon."
So yes, my hips have been put to use, and my womb is probably shrivelled up and dead.
Keeping all these very accurate facts in mind, it's time to behave less like all the aforementioned "He's" and start acting like a very, very tired "she."
And that brings an end to my bodily rants. Over-enthusiastic cutlet, out!
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