Another couple of clean days gone by and I've even managed some exercise. It wasn't a pretty sight. My 120kg body has a strong memory of what it could do at 85kg and gym-fit, and forgot to adjust for the extra blubbiness factor.
I was doing my best to follow a DVD program when my legs simply gave way and I collapsed in a slow motion heap on the floor. I'm sure it would have been the funniest spectacle, I flayed about and tumbled, somehow simultaneously banging my knees and falling on my backside. The entire movement was reminiscent of one of those mechanical contraptions where it starts with a ball-baring rolling down here, which tips the cup over there, which then hits the cog thing somewhere else and eventually that tiny first movement crescendos into the big whoop bang crashing finale; only instead of the ball-baring and a bunch of mechano, there lay a fallen Disney dancing hippo.
I sat on the floor for a moment and then like a toddler, in shock about what had just happened, I bawled my eyes out.
But what happened next is no doubt the reason I've been flying high ever since: I walked my knees out to loosen them again, changed the DVD to a simpler program, and knocked off a 30 minute workout. 'Course in it's evilness the darn new program would have the very same exercise that had me flying in the first place, but I managed to take it easy and make it all the way through.
When I awoke this morning all my muscles gave me that reassuring scream of post-workout glory, read: pain! Muscles that had forgotten they even had a purpose in my body are now smugly letting me know they exist.
It's a small step, but so very very huge in its significance. Thank you for sticking through it with me, and giving me your support.