Tonight was trainer workout #4. I didn’t pass out or throw up, but there were moments all I could do was laugh, and wonder if I would pass out soon.

After the stretches we started with planks with a leg raise. I thought we were doing 15 of them, and when we go to 15, while the sweat started to bead on my forehead I thought, well, that’s tough. And that’s when Trainer Paul said, “Halfway done!” It was 15 each leg. And we did two @$#*&@! sets of these.  It was not my shining moment.

There were all sorts of other fun things, involving balancing and weights, and presses, and my puny muscles. We ended with these:

They were “turning step ups” or something like that. Seemed easy enough, and was, with 10 pounds weights. But Trainer Paul decided I could handle more…so I ended up with 20 pound weights. I was hauling an extra 40 pounds as I stepped up. I was STUNNED at how much it was in my hands, and that that’s how much more I want to lose.

That was my incentive to keep stepping up, even when I wanted to stop. Feeling all that weight, wanting to stop because of it, I knew that I had to keep going so that one day 20 pounds doesn’t feel like anchors pulling me down.

It didn’t matter that there were 87 young, lithe, healthy 20-somethings all exercising together around me in concert, like a bunch of gazelles. It didn’t matter that I lumbered like a hippopotamus. That when I did my bent over rows I saw a 40-year old gorilla in the mirror. Every time doubt and self-consciousness tried to sabotage me, I thought, “What would Sydney Bristow do?”

She’d just push herself. And so did I.