I'm Alive!

I can't help laughing at myself as I write this.

"I'm alive!" is what my husband taught the girls to shout--instead of "Ouch!"--when I brush their tangly hair. He told them that feeling some pain is good because if they never felt any pain, then they probably wouldn't be alive anymore. They didn't quite buy into it, but sometimes they humor him with it.

My trainer had me work my hamstrings and other posterior muscles particularly hard yesterday. I'm definitely not the strongest or fastest person at the gym, but when I'm there, I work hard, I don't whine, and I have a good sense of humor about myself. Besides, I like it when Mike pushes me to do the hard work, because the easy stuff I can do just fine on my own.

Anyway, yesterday's workout was definitely tougher than most. As I was struggling to stay upright on my spaghetti legs, I asked him, "Are you sure I'll be able to run tomorrow?" (He knows I run on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at 7:00 a.m.) He laughed and promised me that, yes, I'd be able to run.

OK, so he was right. I was able to run this morning. It's all the other everyday functions that I'm not so capable of. You know, functions like walking, sitting, getting back up again, bending over to pick up objects, using the stairs. Just those little things.

Oh, I hear the doorbell ringing. I have to get up. "Ouch!"

Oops, I mean, "I'm alive!"