The first indicator I had that my workouts were going to last longer than just the time I was actively participating in them was when the hubbie and I sat outside to have some watermelon (a really tasty one, as it happens). Before I finished my wedge, I had to put it down because I couldn’t hold it any longer; my arms were shaking too badly. This was several hours after the workout was over.
And then there’s the soreness. Since I have fibromyalgia in my big list o’ diseases, I’m pretty used to aching all over. This soreness at least means I’m getting somewhere, although it has occasionally been bad enough to give me trouble sleeping. My not-a-bit overweight-or-out-of-shape daughter-in-law swears it’s not just me.
Worst of all, I finally have to admit it: the hubby was right (along with every fitness specialist in the world, I suppose) that exercising actually can, in the long run, make you feel better and more energized. On a different day than the watermelon incident, it had been an uphill slog all day, and I didn’t want to exercise. But I did it, and, frighteningly, I felt better the rest of the day. Why scary? Because it means I really can’t quit if I want to be healthy.
Hmmm, how can I rationalize this away? Maybe it’s an instance of you feel better after compared to when you’re exercising. Y’know, like in the ancient joke “Doctor, it hurts when I do this.” Doctor: “Well, stop doing it.” Or maybe it’s the really nice shower after you’re all sweaty and salty. Maybe I would have felt better later in the day anyway.
Nope. None of them seem to cover it.
Damn. I hate being wrong.