As I lie on my sofa a quivering, sweating mess, barely able to stop my fingers from shaking long enough to type this blogpost I can't help but feel truly awesome. Just 30 minutes ago I was lying on a rubber mat in a puddle of my own drool as I struggled through my 57th pushup, my legs/arm/chest/lungs were burning after completing a 400m sprint, 60 squats and 60 sit ups but I had a room of people cheering me on - just 3 more pushups, another 400m run and it would be over! I heaved my body up one last time and stumbled out onto the track willing my jelly-like legs to move one in front of the other.
I feel the need to express how much of an achievement this 400m stagger was - I hate running. I was famously beaten by a man in a wheelchair in a 5k race, to say I suck at it is an understatement. So to push myself through this last 400m where every breath felt like acid being poured into my lungs took enormous amounts of motivation on my behalf and I finished in a not too terrible 13 minutes.
As a fiercely competitive person (I have been banned from playing Monopoly in over 3 households) I amazed myself by recognising that even though I was technically last, I didn't care. I had pushed my body to its absolute limit and tried my hardest in every single pushup/squat/situp, I was doubled over in pain, fighting the urge to be sick and I had never been prouder of myself.
The next session is on Wednesday and even though I know I will be hobbling around tomorrow complaining about my crippled muscles - I can't wait.
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