Four

I MADE THE mistake of setting up an appointment with a trainer at the gym.  The Husband and I have been going to the gym since January -- our Christmas gift to each other.  We both really enjoy it.  Up until January I have always been an early morning workout person, but this time around I recognized that getting up at 4:00 a.m. seems insane.  I started going to the gym around 8:30 p.m. - after the Offspring were in bed.  It works much better for me.  Plus, I sleep MUCH better after an evening workout.

We are what our gym calls "founding members" -- which just means we joined while it was still being built. (The nice thing about a brand new gym that opens in January - no old members giving you side-eye and calling you "resolutioners").  We got two free workouts with a trainer but I hadn't done it.  So yesterday, I got the brilliant idea to go ahead and set it up.  There's a ton of equipment at the gym that I've got no clue to use, and watching people and copying them is a dangerous proposition -- what if they don't have a clue and now I'm using the equipment wrong.

Anyhow, the trainer first crushed my spirit by not only weighing me, but by telling my all about my BMI.  Then he introduced me to TRX.  If you don't know what that is -- it was invented by a Navy Seal -- so you get the idea.  Any who, he showed me six different exercises and I did ONE rep of like 20 each -- and suddenly gravity felt super intense.  But of course, being a glutton for punishment I went back today and did the same torture again, but this time did THREE reps.  Yeah.  I'm that guy.  So now, I'm kind of fried and sore and am glad tomorrow is a rest day because knowing me -- I would probably try to up it to FIVE reps, and then the next blog would be written from the hospital.

On the home front, the kids are running amuck, and have convinced The Husband that our cat, Cutie is lonely and needs a sibling.  They all trooped down to the humane center and brought back tons of picks of this cat named Ricky.  They are currently collaboratively building Ricky a bed out of a cardboard box.  They are extreme optimists and believe my "maybe" means that Ricky will be joining the family soon.  Mama has her doubts.

I think you should be proud of me, for todays 500 was neither political nor about race relations.  Although I do have a lot to say about Mister Trump and his ridiculous tweets, but I'm keeping it light today; my muscles are sore.

--Jen