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Last night I got 8.5 hours of sleep. Kevin got this nifty sheet that measures your sleep. So far, my average is about a 79 out of 100. It’s considered average. Last night my score was 85. There was a second sleep score that was 39. Upon further inspection, Mogli took a nap in the bed between 9:46 and 11:46. He fell asleep as soon as his body hit the bed. Poor guy. Also for the first time, my sleep was 30% deep and 70% light. Usually it’s around 20% deep. I’m not sure if this has anything to do with The Fix, but after I finished making pancakes and scrambled eggs for us, I mentioned my sleep score to Kevin and he joked that it was obvious I had great sleep last night. LAWL

My heart rate has bugged me since I quit working out. My resting bpm was between 57 – 59 from June to October. A few weeks after not doing the workouts, my heart rate climbed to 60, 61, 62 and even 63.

It’s normal. Those are healthy ranges. I know. Blah blah.

It’s also true that your heart rate can be lower. Runner’s have lower heart rates. Elite athletes, etc. I know I’m not in that boat, but you know what—I liked my 57-59.

Since moving to San Francisco, I’ve had daily workouts. Yes, walking up and down the hills to get to and from everywhere takes a serious toll on my shins and calves, but they’ve acclimated now. The hill to our house is still something I’m not used to. That being said, my heart rate on Tuesday was 59. Yesterday and today it’s back to 60, but let’s just say I’m a little smug about this recent change in events.

Back to this morning.

“Sore” is an understatement. My thighs felt like heavy bricks. Every time I had to go from standing to sitting was followed by a loud groan. Every time I noticed my posture had gone to crap, I straightened up and felt each one of my abs rip apart my stomach. Just imagining doing the next workout was enough to make me reach for the pain reliever.

I know, I don’t typically do that, but I couldn’t fathom working through that pain.

Day two wasn’t as terrible as I imagined, though. Don’t get me wrong, the jumping jacks hurt my legs and stomach, and the jogging in place ripped up my thighs, but it was easier. The workout is focused on arms and abs, so it was manageable. Autumn said something about wanting something you’ve never had, that you’ve got to do something you’ve never done.

Armed with the knowledge that I have done it before, I pressed on. The pushups were a killer. I was able to do 20 before. I could only do 4 before I dropped to my knees and cried my way through the 60 seconds. Excuses soared through my head as fast as I could refute them.

Me: You’ve done this before! You can do it again.
Quitter: Yeah, but you’re so out of shape now.
Me: Is that all you’ve go—
Quitter: You should just quit. This hurts too much.
Me: You can do it
Quitter: Yeah, but what if you can’t…
Me: Other people have done it. People morbidly obese. People much older. Peop—
Quitter: Just stop

I paused a handful of times, and I’m not proud of it. When I got to the scissor twists and the circle crunches, I was convinced that my stomach lining was literally tearing as I twisted.

It wasn’t as horrible because I didn’t have to work my overworked legs.

It wasn’t as horrible because there were only two rounds to repeat twice.

It wasn’t horrible because it really was 60 seconds of fighting with myself to just get it done.

It wasn’t as horrible because I didn’t quit. If I quit, it would have been harder. I would have to admit that I failed. I would have to come up with a big enough excuse for not having done it. I think working out is mostly fighting the urge to quit. Your body is surprisingly resilient. It’s your brain that you have to convince.

The sooner I suck it up and fight through the pain, the closer I am to being strong enough to not feel this extreme pain.

I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. I knew just how bad it would hurt every single time I had that extra side of mashed potatoes. I knew it every time I shoveled that extra dark chocolate kit kat into my mouth over winter break. I knew it during every moment that I felt like “…you really shouldn’t eat this crap” but then did anyway.

I knew this moment would come back one day. I knew I was going to start working out.

I also knew that I wasn’t going to make any excuses for myself. If it hurts, then maybe I shouldn’t have quit. If it hurts, then maybe I won’t quit again.

I do feel stronger, but I still feel like a bloated little blob. All of me is still so sore.

Tomorrow is leg and butt day. I also remember that tomorrow is Autumn’s favorite little “BONUS ROUND” with her kickbacks.

Leg day is (far and away) THE hardest for me (if I remember correctly), but it’s also my favorite. I always knew that if anything was kicking my butt into shape (literally), it was those 30 minutes.

Anyway, day two is done, and it was bad, but it’s done, and that’s good enough for me.

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