Death by Workout.
Today, my trainer nailed me to the wall. I nearly died from minute after persistent minute of jump squats, bag punches, fist pushups, burpees, renegade rows and other extreme torture that he could think of. “Skoog,” he said, “we need to get you back to where you were before your wedding.”
I held my tongue. Thinking back to those exhausting days of biking 20-30 miles every day coupled with hardcore 90-minute workouts 6 days/week made me want to throw in the towel. It sucked. I was miserable.
I was overtraining.
These days, I happily work out 4-5 hours a week, total. I’ve stopped biking (though I do miss it and will hop back on this summer). No more hours-long training runs (except for the occasional Sunday morning 5K). Instead, I have adopted strolls in Central Park as my cardio, substituted HIIT with kickboxing and lift as heavy as possible in the gym. Yoga is a bonus.
My body has changed, too. With more quality and purpose to my training sessions, I’m seeing results like never before. It’s satisfying. In less than half the time I used to spend on my fitness, I see double progress!
I’m not sure what my trainer has in mind. I’ve promised to do the Tough Mudder with him this year. Maybe that’ll get him off my back?