That’s what I feel right now.
No, I’m not sick or anything. I’m still getting used to getting up at 5:50am to get ready for work again, after being off for so long.
And then, of course, this past weekend I decided to stop being stupid and get back into the exercise routine that I slacked off on when I was half-way through my pregnancy. So it’s been 18 months or so since I last exercised with any regularity. Sunday I bought workout clothes in my current size. Monday…I got on the elliptical.
I thought I was going to die.
No really. At 5 minutes, that was it. I wanted off. But I pushed through. I kept going. I made it to 15 minutes, which was my goal to start.
And I still thought I was going to die.
Tuesday, I repeated the torture.
Today…I sat in traffic for 30 minutes on the freeway, in a rural section between exits. I got home late. Baby girl needed a bath. I had some laundry to wash. Plus I really wanted to scrapbook. So I decided to take a break from exercise and continue tomorrow.
I hit the wall at 8:30 pm.
I am so bone-crushing tired. It hurts to even lift my arms. (I’ve paid close attention to them with this workout start, too.) It’s almost too much effort to move.
I didn’t scrapbook. I did get all my house stuff and family stuff done before I hit the wall. But now….I’m sitting here, contemplating heading to bed.