No Rest

Shortly after I moved to Charlottesville Josh and I started working out together, since both of our apartment complexes have gyms. First we did this four-week program for getting a "fighter's physique." Luckily it didn't actually involve fighting.

After that we just sort of did our own thing, but we both prefer a "program" to keep us going, so now we're doing some workout he found online for MMA fighters. I don't even know what MMA stands for, but I think it's some sort of cross between boxing and wrestling. Luckily this program doesn't involve fighting either. But sometimes it involves wanting to die. There are three days laid out for you, and the second day is insanely harder than the other two. It involves sprinting and jumping around and push-ups and mountain climbers and swinging weights around. We also improvise on things since we don't have a full gym, like laying a bar across the side rails on the treadmill to pull ourselves up from a lying position. It's awkward to have to lie down on the treadmill with people walking or running next to me, but I'm getting over being embarrassed about what fellow gym-goers think.

Anyway, today we did the super hard workout. Next to our list of things we're supposed to do Josh wrote in big block letters "NO REST." Sometimes I have to rest a little anyway, because my lungs are about to burst out of my chest and fall panting to the floor. But I try to keep up. The uphill sprints at the end are the worst. Sometimes I think I'm going to puke or die from lack of oxygen, but that hasn't happened yet. And after I catch my breath and stop pouring sweat, I feel pretty good.