Last night, I hit some cardio pretty hard. I went to my one of my favorite spin teacher’s classes…I sometimes consider her 45 minute class the highlight of my week. She hasn’t been around for the past few weeks, I guess because of the holidays. Or not, maybe she quit. I think she quit; the new winter schedule is out, and she is not on it. Anywhere. I should check my other gym locations to be certain.
Anyway, I can’t stand the guy who was subbing. I ran a quick mile, went down and set up my stuff on my bike and started doing some abs in the stretching area. Made a judgment call and decided to keep my sweat up and get back to the treadmill. (this is something that I hope to fix…showing up for a class and knowing who will teach, or knowing, at least, if the person I show up for will not be there, but more on that later). Grabbed my cycling shoes, threw them back in my locker, and started running again. Logged about 4 more miles; felt great. I went up to stretch, and was just about to finish, when lo and behold, who sdo I see (or rather, sees me) but my trainer. Crap; I was trying to avoid him. I had narrowly escaped the gym in the morning without him seeing me (so I think). He did give me a strange look when he saw me, I swear.
Met him this morning to kill some squats. I got killed. The worst part about this is that when I told him what I did the day before, I was 100% honest. I told him I did cardio in the evening, then I Was stupid/cocky and told him I did the chest/shoulder workout we have been doing. He immediately prophesied it would be a bad squat day. Boy, was he ever right. Sparing the details of my pathetic reps and my inability to get up 225 even once, most of our squat session was really him lecturing me on how important, when building some serious strength, resting is. Between sets, between days. I know this, he has told me this since the beginning. And seriously, I have gotten better…for the most part. Well, I paid for my hubris in those 40 minutes of a terrible squat workout that was my own fault.
The part of our workout after that, was, indeed a lot of fun. I felt like a circus clown.