Today, I reached way way deep down, embraced my inner geriatric, and gimped around EB. It was really cute. Now I know EXACTLY what I am going to look like when I am 70 and trying to hold off the slow hardening of my arteries that is arteriosclerosis.
Jumping rope was a joke of enormous proportions today. If I didn't want to cry so bad and I wasn't so damn mortified, I would have laughed. It looked like this: (1) Rope slowly lops over head, (2) Rope hits floor, (3) Right leg steps over rope, (4) Left Leg steps over rope, (5) A momentary wish for death, (6) Rope slowly lops over head. The dude next to me, M, I couldn't even see his rope because he was moving so fast. In fact, he channeled Mike Tyson pre-Robin Givens. Or, maybe I couldn't see his rope because it was so dark they needed to illuminate the Mongolian BBQ parking lot we were at with lanterns. This is not a joke, lanterns. It was that dark. If I was a criminal (lawyer joke here), I would totally commit crimes in this parking lot; it is THAT sketchy.
Anyhow, in summary, I channeled Bea Arthur Post-Golden Girls and I ain't proud of it.
The ice remains on my knees. My father (the doc), my husband, and Mookie all appear to be concerned about my need to push through this despite what is very likely the demise of my knees. Oh, patella, help me show them that a little bit of perseverance (Aleve, Celebrex, and Patron) is all that is necessary to get better!
I have the determination that only comes with someone trying to manage the rolls, loose skin, and huge ass that comes with having twins and eating without stop for a year. Seriously, what was I thinking? Did I think I was still 16 and playing basketball every day? Did I think I had my mother's metabolism? No, I do not. God gives gifts. My gift (other than 3 cute boys and a loving husband) is the metabolism of a sloth instead of the metabolism of my Size 6 Mom who eats cheese like it's going out of style. The other special genetic gift that was bestowed upon me is, of course, the abs of my father's half of the family. My abs are so, so sexy that even with dedicated exercise for the rest of my life I can only hope that my mid-section will resemble that of a pregnant Heidi Klum or perhaps a pre-Jenny Craig Kirstie Alley. Why did Shelley Long leave Cheers? For gems like Troop Beverly Hills...anyhow, I digress.
Moving on, I will continue to hope that tomorrow will be an improvement on today. Tomorrow, I believe we are running a long distance (as opposed to the graceful gazelle-like sprints that I did today). Wish me luck. Wish me strength. Wish me a nice old lady who lends me her wheelchair so I can cross the finish line.