There's nothing quite like unleashing a tirade of curses upon your husband and then, hours later, still being able to lie beside each other in bed, do your silly-voice-talk, and fall asleep together.
John had me work out with him yesterday. We used kettle bells and I got to a point where I was like, "Forget it. I'll run. I'll do anything other than this." So, of course he then had me do 50 kettle bell swings and a jog around the apartment complex. After time #1, I figured we were done. I could, at last, go inside, drink some cold water, and sit down and read. I'm reading this book called Don't You Forget About Me. It's nothing stellar but it makes slight mention of the 1980s and takes place in a "fictitious" area that closely resembles Morristown, Chatham, etc. The author even mentions the Nautilus, aka "Nauseous" Diner.
We ended up doing the 50 kettle bell swing and run around the apartment complex a 2nd time. John has this great ability of making me push myself. I still don't give it my all, but it's better than me just going upstairs. After the 2nd time around, I felt pretty dead. Face red. Body crashing down onto the grass.
Even though it was a tough workout and despite saying "Whatever" and "I can't" and even a few "Fuck yous," I felt good after the workout. Even today...the back of my legs kill but...it feels good.
This week is already feeling significantly better than last week. There's something to be said for that whole body/mind connection idea.
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