In my quest to revisit my 20-year-old body, I did something stupid last night. Smart in every health or nutritionist view, but really stupid.
I climbed on the elliptical machine and moved my legs.
Yeah, dumb, I know. You see, I was doing REALLY good prior to Christmas - I'd worked up to alternating running and walking for close to an hour, added a little home-brew Yoga, you know. I'd gotten myself to peering over that ledge where "Real Results! No Waiting" resides. In other words, I saw the outline of my abs.
Then? oooh, I know why all these health magazines and websites scream "CHRISTMAS WILL KILL YOUR DIET! RUN, RUN AWAY!" Because, Christmas didn't kill my diet and exercise regime - it's hacked it to pieces, a bloodier version of the French Revolution, only this time, I had my cake and my bread, as well cookies, wine and major amounts of every carb Atkins lovers loath. (I'm a carb addict and ever shall be. Mashed potatoes with turkey and stuffing mixed all together with gravy? Only slightly less desirable than a skim Mocha, no whip, with half-a-shot-of-caramel-half-a-shot-of-almond. Skim only because I can't taste the difference because of all the crap I put in it, and I delude myself into thinking that skim will make a difference in the calorie column. Ha! roiiight.)
Added to the First Annual Hack Job by Christmas via my Aunts' great cooking, I got sick, and moving my body in any direction was the very last thing I wanted to do. Besides, I lost my voice. That definitely affects my legs.
So yesterday morning was supposed to be my "Hey, you ate too much Chinese Buffet - 5 doughnuts is NOT acceptable, you'd better get that Arse looking a little less flab, babe" new leaf turning over. As I slept through 5:30, and 5:35, and snoozed through 5:45 and slapped the other alarm at 6:20, I figured I'd do something at night, after 13 hours of work (split between two jobs, mind you.)
So, I skipped blogging for my elliptical date, and decided the Pre-set Fat Burn would be the way to do it. AND I knew I'd be able to, because it alternated fast and slow, the way I did when I was on the treadmill.
FOR 48 MINUTES.
Do you know how many measly calories I burned in 48 MINUTES? 330. That's IT. I eat that in a cookie!
Oh, man, my legs hurt. They're so sore, that pushing my clutch in 20 or 30 times on the way to work was Aaa-gony. Nevermind that I'm wearing 3 inch heels.
I never said I was smart.
I suppose jumping up and down screaming at the TV in celebration after my arse-kicking didn't help either.