Okay, so it’s the wrong time of year, but that’s the best way to describe the city of Memphis this mild, sunny Saturday afternoon at around 5:00 p.m. It looked like a ghost town.
Where were all the people? At home or in a bar somewhere, watching University of Memphis Tigers win their semi-final and earn their way to the NCAA basketball championships.
I watched the first half of the game from a deserted gym. Usually on a Saturday afternoon, there might be 20 or so people in the gym at that hour. Today there was one other guy, and he was watching the game, not exercising. Toward half-time, two other guys wandered in. Guess they weren’t basketball fans. Or maybe they’re transplants and could care less about the home team. I ignored them, to be safe.
On a personal note:
The Tigers weren’t the only ones celebrating victory today. About halfway through my workout, I realized that I have defeated the elliptical machine. I think I’ve mentioned before that my first elliptical experience wasn’t especially motivating. My legs were screaming at the two-minute mark, but I made myself go to five minutes just to save some semblance of dignity. Ten months later and I’m flying through a 45-minute workout without any trouble. Yes, I’m sweaty, jello-legged, and huffy-puffy at the end, but that’s kind of the point.
I had a similar experience working with the trainer this week. Trainer Kevin made me do 80 push-ups in one 45-minute session. At my first PT session last June, I sort of did nine push-ups. I say “sort of” because they were really more elbow-creases than push-ups. But Wednesday night, I did 80 push-ups of various types, and I did most of them well. While I was rubbing my noodle-y arms, I took a moment to savor the victory, and perhaps gloat a little. (Apparently, the effort showed. Trainer Wayne asked after the workout, “Have you been swimming?” LOL I looked in the mirror and saw that my hair was wring-it-out wet.)
And a final victory, of sorts, occurred when I did my “Sneak Peak” Friday night weigh-in. It was not pretty. (If I’m going to have a 3-pound gain, I want the freaking 10,000 calories that go with it!) Probably just a freaky bounce, but definitely not rewarding. Still, as I was staring down at the ugly number, my immediate thought (after Oh, shit!) was that there just wasn’t anything to be done about it. Eating more isn’t going to help; neither is eating less. I eat what I eat to fuel my body. Sometimes I go a smidgen over my calorie target, but sometimes I go a smidgen under. It all averages out to what I think is the right number for what I’m doing. Anyway, I’m claiming victory in that my first reaction was to simply keep doing what I’m doing. An earlier version of me would’ve probably cried and/or headed for the Little Debbie aisle.
I hope you’ll find a quiet moment or two to savor some of your victories this weekend. I’d love to read about them–here, or on your blog!