MsK – you are totally the shit! I love watching you achieve your goals, and you have so, so much to be proud of! Keep up the great work… and remember my gentle, but hard core voice when you feel like you can’t do it! You can!
Happy Birthday, sweets!
x-x-x-x-x-x
My heart was pounding, and sweat was pouring down my face. My legs felt like jello, and my arms were on fire, burning and aching from exertion. I could feel the fatigue starting to weigh my body down. I wanted to quit. I wanted to hit the big red “Stop” button, but as I stared at the red numbers on the panel in front, the numbers taunted me.
528. 43 minutes.
I was so close. I was over half way there, and I knew if I didn’t push through this last twenty minutes I’d walk out feeling like total shit, like a failure.
I closed my eyes and tried to visualize how good I would feel after this work out was over, how much my body had already changed from workouts like these, and what I ultimately wanted to look like. I could hear my girls shouting at me to get my ass gear, encouraging me to push the pain, the fatigue. I thought about how much more energy I had since starting this whole process… and then something clicked.
645. 50 minutes.
The need to just do this washed over me. I pumped my legs faster, harder, forcing my body into an almost frenzied pace. Suddenly, it wasn’t just good enough to hit my normal 775 calories burned goal. I wanted more, and I was going to get there if it killed me.
Yes, I could do this!
I kept my eyes glued to the monitor in front me as the numbers quickly climbed higher and higher.
734. 55 minutes.
Fuck yes! I own this machine!
Faster. Harder. I pushed myself almost to the point of breaking, wanting to feel the burn. Wanting to watch the calories and pounds melt away. As the music blared in my ears, I felt my body soar with adrenaline.
758. 56 minutes.
Move your ass, Kathy!
767. 57 minutes.
Holy shit! I’m about to do this… with three minutes to spare.
776. 58 minutes.
Epic fistpump!
785. 59 minutes.
One minute! I can do this! Push it!
795. 60 minutes.
When the calorie marker hit 795, I pressed on, desperate to see the little red numbers click to 800.
796.
797.
798.
799.
800.
“Fucking hell!” I gasped as I slowed my arms and legs. I couldn’t believe I had set a new record. 800 fucking calories in just a little over 60 minutes. I couldn’t believe I had just done that. Where had the determination come from?
I let my arms hang limply by my side as I got my breathing and heart rate under control. I was completely maxed out, but I was high on the adrenaline coursing through my system. I felt like I could fly.
This must be the runner’s high.
I chugged down some water and mopped the sweat off my face and neck. I looked over, scanning the room, and realized the hot guy that was always here at the same time as me was totally checking me out.
I glanced down at my sporty new workout clothes, loving the way they fit. Feeling a little sassy and high from my newly achieved victory, I climbed off the elliptical, walked past him, and winked.
Yeah, I’m the shit. I know it.
Just as I was about to walk through the doors, I glanced back over my shoulder to see him staring at me.
Yeah, he was totally checking out my ass!
With a little wiggle, I smirked and walked out the doors.