Working Out with OCD

I've been working out with Sylvia for a few weeks now. I needed some motivation in the gym so that I don't get mistaken for a hippo when head to Africa next week. Next week? Already? Gosh.

I don't think I've lost much weight, but I can see a little difference in proportion. I'm not so much a hippo anymore as a pregnant giraffe.

The thing about trainers is they're there to push you a little bit harder and get you through that 3rd set that you might otherwise blow off. They're also there to count reps for you. Thing is, even when I know she's counting, I still count my reps in my head. My own special form of OCD. Sometimes I go backwards, becuase for whatever reason, at the end of the set 3-2-1 seems more doable than 10-11-12.

I've developed a little trick now that I know she's keeping track. When I get somewhere between 5 and 7 reps left, I start counting backwards from 10. That way, in my head I think I have about 3-5 more reps to go when she says "two more" or "last one." Whatever gets you through the day, right?

Anyway, she's been very busy, working long shifts, hanging out with friends, training a lot, and quasi-dating a boy who sort of has a girlfriend but she lives in Portugal, so the rules are a little bendy. Bless. All this has made her tired. Very tired. Narcoleptic tired.

A couple times this morning, I did my "restart at 10" trick, and got back down to zero. "Are we going to 1,000?" I asked.

"Sorry, I zoned out," she said. "But you love this exercise, no?"

Um, yeah.

I believe she took a full-fledged nap during the abs workout today. And I'm counting on having sore obliques tomorrow morning.