So I met up with Helga at the gym today.  We had a carefree half-hour of skipping gaily about the gym singing, “Neener neener neeeeee-ner!”

Okay, not so much.  I was forced, practically at gunpoint, to engage in a variety of alleged exercises designed probably by terrorists to humiliate and beat down the most hardened American commando spy.  Rambo couldn’t have tolerated these exercises.

There was this squat-and-lift thing with weights!  There were pushups on the bar, and the bar was lowered from last time!  (I fixed him with my wobbly steely gaze and said, “Is this bar lower than it was last time?” and he laughed and asked if that was a rhetorical question. Helgas are evasive like that.) There was an unspeakable throw-this-so-called-medicine-ball-over-sideways thing that my entire rib cage will hate me for tomorrow.  There was jumping!  There was stepping up onto a platform repeatedly while holding enormous (okay, maybe 7.5lb?  maybe only 5, because I am weak and pathetic) weights!

When the torture session was over, Helga decreed that I should continue, voluntarily, to engage in “cardio” for another thirty minutes.  I started with the DeathMaster.  I dialed up my 15 minutes, I set it to Level 2, I slogged along for as long as I could tolerate.  And at 8 minutes I completely ran out of steam.


Okay, I don’t, but I think I need to build up to thirty more minutes of cardio after a training session.

I’m still in the “baby-steps, at least I am a Good Tryer” stage, so I’m not beating myself up too much.



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