Week One, Day Three
Husband wakes me up at the ass crack of dawn (4:45 am) and I think he's some kind of alien to be so chipper this early in the morning.
I barely get into my workout clothes and he's shoving pre workout into my arms.
I drink it.
We get to gym and its blissfully empty. Win for the morning routine. I park my ass on the treadmill in front of the football tv. I hate football, but I love to look at those tight pants. And by tight pants I mean their asses.
Get going and things are going swimmingly. By the 15 minute mark though, my stomach starts to gurgle and hurt. Oh shit.
I am both irritated and worried that this is happening as I've heard horror stories of people getting sick on treadmills and tossing their cookies or shatting their pants. Neither of which I want to happen to me.
I grumble that this is why I prefer to workout in the comfort of my own home.
I skip a run session which pisses me off because it's only day three and I hate to be that person already. But at least I don't stop. I make all the rest of the runs, though I'm pretty sure my stomach is going to burst open and spill the contents across the gym floor.
Finally, amazingly, the annoying voice on my C25k app says, "WORKOUT COMPLETE."
I clean off the tread and walk over the husband, giving him dirty looks that he doesn't see. I blame my stomach ache on HIM. For making me get up so early. For drinking some unknown caffeinated workout supplement.
But I also blame him for getting my ass moving. For hitting my Apple Watch's modest "move goal," and for successfully completing my C25k Week One.
Okay, you win Husband... you win.
And I guess, so do I.