Proof

Today went as planned.  Maybe a bit better than planned.  But I couldn’t have planned that.  See the conundrum?  That’s your life too?  Oh, OK.

When days go as planned there’s almost nothing about which to write.  These kinds of days are glorious to live but boring to type out.  And if I really search for what keeps popping up in my psyche, it’s not my smooth day.  It’s this:  my legs hurt so bad after working out for three days in a row that I feel the pain in my bones.  Maybe I’ve overdone it?  I don’t know.  I ordered this workout DVD from a reputable company and read the reviews on it.  I’d worked out to another DVD by the same trainer and it was good.  And I like it.  I mean, it seems like a winner.

All I know is, I hurt, Clem.  I hurt a lot.

But I finished day three today, and even though I felt like my workout pants were actually special, cloth blow torches, I was euphoric.  In an I’m-almost-dead kind of way.

Maybe I’m crazy, but every time I tried to get out of a chair today, and fell back in agony, I felt strangely satisfied.  Maybe it’s because the pain was proof that I’d done something.

And sometimes I just need proof.

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