But, no more, because:
I'm bootless and loving it! And tonight I made my re-entry to the gym! I only have clearance to do that dreaded bike with no hills, but I enjoyed every second on that dumb bike. I went a moderately hard 9 miles...the big test will be how my foot feels tomorrow. I can already tell you how my...saddle is going to feel. Ouch. My saddle does not like those saddles. My hope is that by continuing with this at some rate, and continuing to feel normal, I will be set free with no restrictions on January 12th! Then I can slowly work my way back into running. Trust me, I'll be running like something is chasing me. Something is chasing me. Namely that Drunken Mocha Goodnight Cake.
(And I can't stop here. I must give my observations of the gym again. If anyone out there has any hesitation to go to a gym because they feel self-conscious...please take my word for it that you will fit right in. As I was in my first 5 minute segment, a lady approached the bike next to me and climbed aboard. Her attire? Flared corduroy pants, suede ballet flats, and a cardigan sweater. She slowly pedaled her 15 minutes while reading a weekly gossip magazine and then left. Around the same time, a lady walked in that must have been in her late 60's. She was slim and trim and obviously no stranger to working out. She came dressed in her long black pants and a dark plum cardigan sweater complete with a shawl collar. After about 15 minutes, she shed the sweater to reveal exceptionally toned arms. Hmm.)
As for me, my right ear bud was not working, so I was listening to my music in only one ear. Weird feeling. Worse than the weird feeling though, was hearing the shriek of the spin instructor on the other side of the gym. "Half-way there!!" I do not ever want to work out while someone shrieks at me. When I was done, I walked over there and who do you suppose I saw on one of those spin bikes??? Mr. Brad himself, who is not suppose to be doing any strenuous exercise because of his rib. He said he was told it was fine as long as his heart rate didn't get over 140 so he didn't breathe too hard and put stress on that rib. So, he gives me that innocent look and tells me that he's watching his heart rate and keeping it at 140. In the meantime, he has sweat pouring off in sheets, dripping onto towels laid along the bike. His face is flaming red, his hair sopping wet. I don't know about all of you, but that qualifies as strenuous exercise to me. But on the upside, all his congestion from that miserable cold is much better. Still. I may make a scarlet "E" to pin onto his shirt tomorrow and make him confess to the doctors and nurses that he Exercised. Strenuously.
This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just saw it and sighed. That's some kind of sweetness right there.