Sitting still seems pretty awesome.

I was super excited to be allowed to sit!  It was a glorious time until Mike decided if I was sitting then I should lift some heavy things.  I should come to expect this but our assessment of what is a good weight is always different.  If it were solely up to me I would stick with a nice safe lower than double digits weight.   A size that I could do a thousand reps with and still look fresh as a daisy.  A size that would not contribute to hardly any change, which is kind of bummer. 

Cue Mike and the, in my opinion, giant weights.   They really aren’t that giant, usually.  They certainly feel pretty dang giant through my reps.  There is no way I can breeze through my set.  And if I can he is there to make adjustments as needed.  I gripe, complain and belly ache through this whole process.  Fortunately, Mike seems invincible to the creative phrases that escape my lips.

He also is pretty darn positive about the whole thing too.  Telling me not to have negative self-talk and that I *can* do it.  Sometimes it seems pretty daunting.  I have these little stick arms and you want me to lift what, how many times?  My brain intermittently will flash the image of me somehow braining myself with a weight.  Fortunately, for me and my brain, it hasn’t happened yet and when I get a little wobbly Mike stands for back up.  I would imagine that is a scary spot to be; behind uncontrolled arms on a noodle rampage!  Still all that positive-ness has me convinced that he poops rainbows.  But it’s the good kind of positive.  Not too chipper, like he is trying to butter up a ray of sunshine and use it as a suppository, but enough to be believable. 

Look at that!  I could do it and I did.  I might have been a little warbly at the end, I may have made an unattractive grunt or a ridiculous looking grimace but I did it.  And pushing yourself (or being pushed in my case) is where you start to see change.