I’m going to say something shocking here. I am not sore. 12+ hours of working out in three days, and I’m not sore anywhere. A freaky thing happens when you learn to workout properly, which really just means learning to breathe properly – deep breaths through an entire movement (exactly when in the exercise you breathe in and out is largely irrelevant). You don’t get sore. But your body will, at some point, show fatigue. In scientific terms, it will crap out on you.
Today, after double hour-long sessions, and then another couple of hours of working through individual exercises, my body is fatigued. There were times when I would tell my body to do something (or Julian Littleford would tell my body to do it). It would hear me. It would try to listen to me. It would try even harder to listen to him. It would want to do it. It really, truly would. But that last repetition was not possible. There was no telltale muscle shaking that often comes before a muscle craps out. The neurological signal from my brain to my muscle stopped along the way and never made it to the destination (it probably took a detour at a drive-through for a milkshake). Or, to be more clear, it responded “Oh, hell no.”
But, I am having so much fun. This is where I should tell you honestly that I have been to therapy to discuss my inability to let go and just have fun. But, perhaps it’s because I have a different idea of fun than most people. A warped, masochistic, perverse idea of fun. And, I’ll tell you that most people who teach fitness classes have that disease to some degree. Make my body scream, release some of those fabulous exercise endorphins, and I’m thrilled.
I’m also going to bed early.