Azalea, our cat, who up to now has been most famous for the mischief she creates with our Christmas tree, has had quite a week.
We were dogsitting for a good friend last weekend when the unthinkable happened. We found Azalea's head in the mouth of one of the visiting dogs. Now, I don't believe for one minute he was trying to hurt her, but unfortunately he did.
Brian and I rushed her to the nearest emergency vet and waited for the worst. I knew her jaw was probably broken because the right side of her mouth was drooping down. I felt she would make it, but what concerned me was the road that it would take to get her there.
Well, we are on that road now. A few thousand dollars in, two emergency vet clinics and a people dentist, as a matter of fact.
I know. You probably think we are crazy. But these are our children. In fact, Brian had no idea the effect she has had on him until she was hurt. He was a mess.
She got to come home on Wednesday from her second procedure. Her canines are fused and her jaw is wired. Her mouth is open slightly so her tongue is sticking out most of the time. It's kind of cute and pitiful and the same time. She drools a lot and her fur isn't as perfectly groomed as the little princess usually keeps it.
She took over our clothes hamper in our bathroom where we confined her for the first few days. We put her little kitty bed in there and took the dirty clothes out. She has been very happy. We may never get the hamper back, even when she is well.
Giving her the medicines prescribed is a real adventure. She needs an antibiotic and pain meds every twelve hours. Which means using a syringe to shoot the liquid in her mouth. Know much about cats? They don't take well to stuff being forced into their mouths. Especially when it tastes disgusting. I guess no one has thought of making a tuna flavor antibiotic. Most of the liquid ends up on the lucky person holding her. So dressing for work in the morning and then giving her the meds isn't the best idea I have had.
This weekend she didn't eat as much as we'd like and she seemed pretty lethargic. This afternoon we decided that she needed to be looked at, so we made the trek back over to Arlington to the vet.
We discussed what might be wrong with her on the way over. One thing that had occurred to me was that she no longer liked the food we gave her because of the shortcut I tried. I injected her medicine into the food I wanted to feed her. No muss, no fuss. Maybe.
Miss SmartyPants could smell the medicine and decided she didn't want to eat what she was offered. She was hungry, just not for food that smells like antibiotic.
She acted like a champ at the vet, even sitting curled up on my lap, purring up a storm once she confirmed there was no viable exit from the exam room.
Our dear friend gave us some canned food her angel kitty didn't need anymore, and as soon as we got home, we served up some of that, sans medicine.
Let me tell you what! She ate (licked) like she had never seen food before! She had a half a can before she decided it was time to get her appearance in order.
So, I have learned my lesson. Medicine will no longer be dispensed in Princess Purrrfect's food. And we will syringe smaller amounts of said awful-nasty-stuff at a time into her mouth, to make sure she gets the proper dose.
Live and spend a fortune learning how to care for your "children."
Monday, April 2, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
My Grass Got Kicked
If anyone tells you that they enjoy push-mowing their lawn, you should immediately demand some of the crack they are smoking. Or ask for the name of their landscaper.
Y'all, let me tell you something. I would rather do just about anything than push-mow a lawn EVER again. I mowed our front and back lawns this morning as a gift to my sweet husband, but I think I will still to baking cookies and making sweet tea for him to enjoy after HE mows from now on.
Long story short, I am off school today and the lawns need to be mowed. House needs to be cleaned too, but my thought process was--mow in the morning while it's relatively cool, clean in the afternoon in the air conditioning. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Heard that one before?
I dutifully cleaned up all the dog business in the yard, a pre-mowing ritual at our house. Then I dragged the little red mower out of the shed and put it in position. I pulled back the little handle, and pulled the cord with all my might, but nothing happened. Ok.
I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok. I checked the gas. Plenty. I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok, little red mower. I have two degrees and wrangle 7th graders for a living. You will not outsmart me.
Well, the mowing was supposed to be a surprise for Brian, but do I want to surprise him more than I want to accomplish the task? Not today, my friends, so I called him to ask how to start the darn thing.
"Well, did you choke it?" he asked after he picked himself up off the floor from the shock of my intention to mow the grass. "Uh, choke, you say? What is the choking you speak of?" I replied.
Apparently there is a little red button on the front of the mower that "primes" the machine after it's been sitting. Ah hah. Push one, two, three. Repeat the starting ritual, and voila! A live lawn mower!
I proceeded to mow the top tier of our lawn with little trouble, but there are places that will benefit from the attention of the weed eater. The May flies were taking off the grass by the thousands as I rolled along, and I discovered one shouldn't have their mouth hanging open while mowing the grass, struggling for breath the hard way. Oh well, a little extra protein never hurt anyone.
My next challenge was the bottom tier of the yard. Narrow and down about 5 steps. I wrestled the mower down there and chopped down the enormous, gnarly weeds. But the grass was a little too dewy still and it bunched up under the mower and trapped the blade. I did discover this after turning off the mower. I still have all my digits, but they are a bit stained from the kelly green wet mess I had to extract from under the mower. Grrr.
Next was the front yard. In the hot morning March sun. Neighbors I have never seen before are waving as they drive by as if to say, "Howdy! Bout dang time you did something about this lawn, lady! Making the neighborhood look bad!"
I'm also not real good with the grass boundary with the neighbors, so those lines look a little like I was drinking a Stella while walking along. Unfortunately, I am not that coordinated or I might have tried. (I miss the riding mower. There was a cup holder on it. Sigh.)
But, the grass is mowed. You can't say it isn't. I haven't attempted the weed eater yet, but something tells me that Brian will have to do that. I have some cookies to bake.
My grass is kicked.
Y'all, let me tell you something. I would rather do just about anything than push-mow a lawn EVER again. I mowed our front and back lawns this morning as a gift to my sweet husband, but I think I will still to baking cookies and making sweet tea for him to enjoy after HE mows from now on.
Long story short, I am off school today and the lawns need to be mowed. House needs to be cleaned too, but my thought process was--mow in the morning while it's relatively cool, clean in the afternoon in the air conditioning. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Heard that one before?
I dutifully cleaned up all the dog business in the yard, a pre-mowing ritual at our house. Then I dragged the little red mower out of the shed and put it in position. I pulled back the little handle, and pulled the cord with all my might, but nothing happened. Ok.
I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok. I checked the gas. Plenty. I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok, little red mower. I have two degrees and wrangle 7th graders for a living. You will not outsmart me.
Well, the mowing was supposed to be a surprise for Brian, but do I want to surprise him more than I want to accomplish the task? Not today, my friends, so I called him to ask how to start the darn thing.
"Well, did you choke it?" he asked after he picked himself up off the floor from the shock of my intention to mow the grass. "Uh, choke, you say? What is the choking you speak of?" I replied.
Apparently there is a little red button on the front of the mower that "primes" the machine after it's been sitting. Ah hah. Push one, two, three. Repeat the starting ritual, and voila! A live lawn mower!
I proceeded to mow the top tier of our lawn with little trouble, but there are places that will benefit from the attention of the weed eater. The May flies were taking off the grass by the thousands as I rolled along, and I discovered one shouldn't have their mouth hanging open while mowing the grass, struggling for breath the hard way. Oh well, a little extra protein never hurt anyone.
My next challenge was the bottom tier of the yard. Narrow and down about 5 steps. I wrestled the mower down there and chopped down the enormous, gnarly weeds. But the grass was a little too dewy still and it bunched up under the mower and trapped the blade. I did discover this after turning off the mower. I still have all my digits, but they are a bit stained from the kelly green wet mess I had to extract from under the mower. Grrr.
Next was the front yard. In the hot morning March sun. Neighbors I have never seen before are waving as they drive by as if to say, "Howdy! Bout dang time you did something about this lawn, lady! Making the neighborhood look bad!"
I'm also not real good with the grass boundary with the neighbors, so those lines look a little like I was drinking a Stella while walking along. Unfortunately, I am not that coordinated or I might have tried. (I miss the riding mower. There was a cup holder on it. Sigh.)
But, the grass is mowed. You can't say it isn't. I haven't attempted the weed eater yet, but something tells me that Brian will have to do that. I have some cookies to bake.
My grass is kicked.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Happy O'Remission Day to Ya!
I took Brian to San Antonio on Friday. He knew that part through a slip o' my big mouth, but he didn't know the other details.
He didn't know he was staying at The Menger Hotel, across from the Alamo, until we pullled up in front. He was delighted, but his first question was, "Hey, uh, isn't this place haunted?" Uh, heck yeah it is, but I didn't want to tell the big scardy cat that. He has his gun and handcuffs, right? He'll be fine....I hope.
I had been antsy the whole trip down, and you would think it was the traffic--at least that is what Brian thought, thank goodness. Actually it was the concern we might see one of his surprises on the way down there.
You see, back in December, I asked his two best friends and their wives to meet us in San Antonio as a surprise. I had no idea I would be able to keep a secret that long, but I did. Chris and Cathy live in Burleson and had left about the same time we did.
Turns out that even with a stop at Jason's Deli in San Marcos, another luxury we usually do not afford ourselves on road trips, we still beat them down to SA.
After checking into The Menger, we ambled on in to The Menger Bar to enjoy the ambience. Teddy Roosevelt recruited some of his Rough Riders in the cozy little bar. It is quite dark in there, especially when you first walk in from outside, but the bartender poured generous vodka tonics. We sat down to enjoy each other's company and unbeknownst to Brian, to wait for his surprise to come walking in.
Matt and Wendy, our other friends, could not join us until the next day, but fortunately they don't live very far from San Antonio.
As we sat there and talked about how great it was to be there and celebrating one year of remission, Brian looked up to see one of his best friends amble through the bar. He looked happily confused for a minute as Chris walked right past him. Cathy was a few steps behind.
Surprise!! Whew! Now I could tell him everything! I had been about to bust for weeks!!
That night we went to Waxy O'Conner's on the Riverwalk for dinner and drinks. Chris tried the 30 year old Glenfidditch for a measly $50. Yikes! I'm not a whiskey girl, but it was all right. Apparently you can really taste the oak. I will stick to vodka tonics...or Smithwick's or even Guinness...but never all in the same evening.
Next morning Matt and Wendy arrived and the party was complete. We went to The Alamo at noon for a wreath laying ceremony for the Irish Americans lost at The Battle of the Alamo. After lunch there was a little parade on the river. Then it was time to fight our way back into Waxy's for the evening. The boys didn't have to wait long for a table.
Pipers came and went throughout the afternoon up and down the river. It made Brian think of Scotland and how we will soon be there. Another side effect from his illness--carpe diem. He does not believe in wasting a moment.
We drank and talked and ate, thoroughly enjoying the party atmosphere and ever cognizant of the gift it all was. Brian gave us all a good scare, and I think it's affected each of our little group a little differently. One thing I can say for sure is that we don't take each other or our lives for granted.
It was a wonderful weekend. Great friends, beautiful city, no ghosts. We are thinking of upping the ante next year and heading to Chicago for St. Pat's.
No matter where we go, we will not forget the preciousness of life and great friends.
He didn't know he was staying at The Menger Hotel, across from the Alamo, until we pullled up in front. He was delighted, but his first question was, "Hey, uh, isn't this place haunted?" Uh, heck yeah it is, but I didn't want to tell the big scardy cat that. He has his gun and handcuffs, right? He'll be fine....I hope.
I had been antsy the whole trip down, and you would think it was the traffic--at least that is what Brian thought, thank goodness. Actually it was the concern we might see one of his surprises on the way down there.
You see, back in December, I asked his two best friends and their wives to meet us in San Antonio as a surprise. I had no idea I would be able to keep a secret that long, but I did. Chris and Cathy live in Burleson and had left about the same time we did.
Turns out that even with a stop at Jason's Deli in San Marcos, another luxury we usually do not afford ourselves on road trips, we still beat them down to SA.
After checking into The Menger, we ambled on in to The Menger Bar to enjoy the ambience. Teddy Roosevelt recruited some of his Rough Riders in the cozy little bar. It is quite dark in there, especially when you first walk in from outside, but the bartender poured generous vodka tonics. We sat down to enjoy each other's company and unbeknownst to Brian, to wait for his surprise to come walking in.
Matt and Wendy, our other friends, could not join us until the next day, but fortunately they don't live very far from San Antonio.
As we sat there and talked about how great it was to be there and celebrating one year of remission, Brian looked up to see one of his best friends amble through the bar. He looked happily confused for a minute as Chris walked right past him. Cathy was a few steps behind.
Surprise!! Whew! Now I could tell him everything! I had been about to bust for weeks!!
That night we went to Waxy O'Conner's on the Riverwalk for dinner and drinks. Chris tried the 30 year old Glenfidditch for a measly $50. Yikes! I'm not a whiskey girl, but it was all right. Apparently you can really taste the oak. I will stick to vodka tonics...or Smithwick's or even Guinness...but never all in the same evening.
Next morning Matt and Wendy arrived and the party was complete. We went to The Alamo at noon for a wreath laying ceremony for the Irish Americans lost at The Battle of the Alamo. After lunch there was a little parade on the river. Then it was time to fight our way back into Waxy's for the evening. The boys didn't have to wait long for a table.
Pipers came and went throughout the afternoon up and down the river. It made Brian think of Scotland and how we will soon be there. Another side effect from his illness--carpe diem. He does not believe in wasting a moment.
We drank and talked and ate, thoroughly enjoying the party atmosphere and ever cognizant of the gift it all was. Brian gave us all a good scare, and I think it's affected each of our little group a little differently. One thing I can say for sure is that we don't take each other or our lives for granted.
It was a wonderful weekend. Great friends, beautiful city, no ghosts. We are thinking of upping the ante next year and heading to Chicago for St. Pat's.
No matter where we go, we will not forget the preciousness of life and great friends.
Monday, March 12, 2012
One Year On...
This weekend is St. Patrick's Day. March 17th. My nephew's 6th birthday. A day to be with friends and drink too much kelly green beer. A day to wear green and pinch those who are not.
And Brian's one year remission anniversary.
I have been planning a trip to celebrate since January. He's pretty impressed that I have kept a secret this long. So am I, to be honest. I would tell you all about it, but he reads this blog and there are lots of details he doesn't know yet. So--you will have to wait until we get home Sunday to hear the details and how much he loved it!
One year cancer-free. And even as he makes the one year mark, one of my students is diagnosed with leukemia. Fortunately, she will be cured as well. I was devastated by my husband's illness. I cannot imagine going through it with a child. She is a brave little girl and her mom is upbeat and supportive. We plan to get Fight Like A Girl orange bracelets to remind her that though she cannot be at school with us for now, we have not forgotten her.
Speaking of going through cancer with a child, my mother in law went with Brian to his latest maintenance treatment. It stresses Brian out if anyone but me goes with him; he feels the need to entertain them when he should be resting. When I go, I have to entertain myself and I know the routine.
He likes to sleep through a lot of it, and I cannot blame him. But his mother needed to see what happens to him in a treatment, needed to see what he went through, and I cannot blame her either. He didn't get to sleep much because she had so many questions, but it was important for her to be there. You can try to describe the experience, but it's hard to really understand unless you have been there.
I think Wilma feels a little better seeing exactly what Brian endured...and will still 5 more times before it's all over. We have a PET scan in May. I am not afraid of this one like I was the one he had last March. Last March was the all clear scan, the one that told us the nightmare was over. This one will just confirm that we still are living the dream.
Tune in Sunday to hear how he liked his surprise! It's going to be so great!! Slainte (Cheers) to remission for all!!
And Brian's one year remission anniversary.
I have been planning a trip to celebrate since January. He's pretty impressed that I have kept a secret this long. So am I, to be honest. I would tell you all about it, but he reads this blog and there are lots of details he doesn't know yet. So--you will have to wait until we get home Sunday to hear the details and how much he loved it!
One year cancer-free. And even as he makes the one year mark, one of my students is diagnosed with leukemia. Fortunately, she will be cured as well. I was devastated by my husband's illness. I cannot imagine going through it with a child. She is a brave little girl and her mom is upbeat and supportive. We plan to get Fight Like A Girl orange bracelets to remind her that though she cannot be at school with us for now, we have not forgotten her.
Speaking of going through cancer with a child, my mother in law went with Brian to his latest maintenance treatment. It stresses Brian out if anyone but me goes with him; he feels the need to entertain them when he should be resting. When I go, I have to entertain myself and I know the routine.
He likes to sleep through a lot of it, and I cannot blame him. But his mother needed to see what happens to him in a treatment, needed to see what he went through, and I cannot blame her either. He didn't get to sleep much because she had so many questions, but it was important for her to be there. You can try to describe the experience, but it's hard to really understand unless you have been there.
I think Wilma feels a little better seeing exactly what Brian endured...and will still 5 more times before it's all over. We have a PET scan in May. I am not afraid of this one like I was the one he had last March. Last March was the all clear scan, the one that told us the nightmare was over. This one will just confirm that we still are living the dream.
Tune in Sunday to hear how he liked his surprise! It's going to be so great!! Slainte (Cheers) to remission for all!!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Back to Normal...but Better
Today Brian ran the Cowtown 5k in 36 minutes.
That's a great time for anyone. But Brian ran his first 5k today since his remission from Lymphoma. He didn't make me get up to go watch, but I wish I had...and I knew I would feel that way.
The week before Brian was diagnosed with stage 3 Lymphoma, he climbed Mt. Tallac at Lake Tahoe. He did it all by himself. He dreams of going back and climbing it again now that he is in remission. Today was a big step in getting back to the top of the mountain.
Running has become such an important element in our lives. It symbolizes health to us. If we can run so fast and so far, illness cannot catch us. And in my opinion, the farther and faster we run, the better.
Brian knew he would finish the race today, but he worried that he would not do better than 45 minutes. Hah. I pray to finish in 45 minutes. I knew that he would come in faster than that. And while I was slightly hurt he didn't ask me to run with him, I knew he would have to leave me behind. I would have never made him run with me. So as I ran without him in my races, he ran alone today.
And it is better this way. Today was about Brian getting back to normal, but better. He needed do this alone and he didn't have to tell me that. Someday I hope to be able to keep up with him...hey, maybe even pass him. But for now, I will go buy a frame for his bib and hang it where we can see it every day.
Every day we will be reminded that it is one year of remission now, and that will steadily grow into many years.
I love you, Brian for your courage and determination and I am so honored to be your wife.
That's a great time for anyone. But Brian ran his first 5k today since his remission from Lymphoma. He didn't make me get up to go watch, but I wish I had...and I knew I would feel that way.
The week before Brian was diagnosed with stage 3 Lymphoma, he climbed Mt. Tallac at Lake Tahoe. He did it all by himself. He dreams of going back and climbing it again now that he is in remission. Today was a big step in getting back to the top of the mountain.
Running has become such an important element in our lives. It symbolizes health to us. If we can run so fast and so far, illness cannot catch us. And in my opinion, the farther and faster we run, the better.
Brian knew he would finish the race today, but he worried that he would not do better than 45 minutes. Hah. I pray to finish in 45 minutes. I knew that he would come in faster than that. And while I was slightly hurt he didn't ask me to run with him, I knew he would have to leave me behind. I would have never made him run with me. So as I ran without him in my races, he ran alone today.
And it is better this way. Today was about Brian getting back to normal, but better. He needed do this alone and he didn't have to tell me that. Someday I hope to be able to keep up with him...hey, maybe even pass him. But for now, I will go buy a frame for his bib and hang it where we can see it every day.
Every day we will be reminded that it is one year of remission now, and that will steadily grow into many years.
I love you, Brian for your courage and determination and I am so honored to be your wife.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Tilting At Windmills....Again
It's that time again. The last day of the grading period. Once again, I have several students failing my classes or other classes. And once again, the only reason they are is the failure to complete and turn in assignments. Once again, it is contest time in Band and Choir and Track season. Once again, the students failing are the ones needed most desperately by their teammates.
I have started tutorials at 7:30 am and given up my conference period the last two days to tutor athletes, singers and band members. And they owe so much work, it's not enough. I can give up Monday as well; grades won't be pulled until Monday at midnight.
I can do tutorials at 7:30 am and give up my conference period, but should I? The parental instinct I have tells me, "No!"...quite sharply, too, I might add. But the middle school kid in me who depended on these students to be eligible for contest and athletics is frantic to get the work in. I remember the thrill of the winning and I want these students to have it.
I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, if they could experience that winning feeling that would inspire them to try harder in the classroom next time. Pretty in my world, isn't it?
I liken this effort to spitting in a bucket with a hole in it, trying to fill it.
And yet, I find myself here every Friday of the end of the grading period, trying harder and caring more than the students I am trying to help. So, am I helping them? I honestly don't know.
I know that 99 % of these kids will go on to be productive citizens in society. I have taught long enough to see the proof. And that 1%, well, I have taught long enough to see what happens to them, too. And as my husband goes to a middle school today to arrest a 12 year old for robbery, maybe I feel the need to try just a little harder to have more of the 99% and less of the 1%.
I have to believe, as tired and frustrated that I am, that I will have more students like Kerry, a sophomore in college now on a track scholarship. He had troubles in middle school, and he is becoming a great man. I have to believe that I will more students like the Vaitai brothers who recently signed their football scholarships to college. One to TCU.
I have to believe that caring FOR them will eventually become the kids caring on their own. I rationalize my actions by pointing out that they are ultimately not escaping the work, even if they have left it to the last minute. We are teaching them responsibility by getting the work from them...even if it takes a little longer for some.
So I will go to Happy Hour today with other frustrated teacher friends and tell myself that I am keeping the kdis in their extracurricular activites and out of trouble with the police. I will tell myself that one day they will visit my class all grown up and lecturing my current students on the importance of doing work on time.
And I will have at least one very large margarita.
I have started tutorials at 7:30 am and given up my conference period the last two days to tutor athletes, singers and band members. And they owe so much work, it's not enough. I can give up Monday as well; grades won't be pulled until Monday at midnight.
I can do tutorials at 7:30 am and give up my conference period, but should I? The parental instinct I have tells me, "No!"...quite sharply, too, I might add. But the middle school kid in me who depended on these students to be eligible for contest and athletics is frantic to get the work in. I remember the thrill of the winning and I want these students to have it.
I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, if they could experience that winning feeling that would inspire them to try harder in the classroom next time. Pretty in my world, isn't it?
I liken this effort to spitting in a bucket with a hole in it, trying to fill it.
And yet, I find myself here every Friday of the end of the grading period, trying harder and caring more than the students I am trying to help. So, am I helping them? I honestly don't know.
I know that 99 % of these kids will go on to be productive citizens in society. I have taught long enough to see the proof. And that 1%, well, I have taught long enough to see what happens to them, too. And as my husband goes to a middle school today to arrest a 12 year old for robbery, maybe I feel the need to try just a little harder to have more of the 99% and less of the 1%.
I have to believe, as tired and frustrated that I am, that I will have more students like Kerry, a sophomore in college now on a track scholarship. He had troubles in middle school, and he is becoming a great man. I have to believe that I will more students like the Vaitai brothers who recently signed their football scholarships to college. One to TCU.
I have to believe that caring FOR them will eventually become the kids caring on their own. I rationalize my actions by pointing out that they are ultimately not escaping the work, even if they have left it to the last minute. We are teaching them responsibility by getting the work from them...even if it takes a little longer for some.
So I will go to Happy Hour today with other frustrated teacher friends and tell myself that I am keeping the kdis in their extracurricular activites and out of trouble with the police. I will tell myself that one day they will visit my class all grown up and lecturing my current students on the importance of doing work on time.
And I will have at least one very large margarita.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
We Meet Again, Jillian Michaels
Running has gone pretty well recently. I'm not anemic anymore. Ulcer went bye bye. And though I have run (and walked some) every day lately, I don't really look any different. I feel better, but don't really look better.
Something more has to be done.
Re-enter Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred to my life. When Julie and I tried it a year or so ago, it damn near killed me the first few times I did it. We started running with Luke's about the same time and our trainers sagely advised we not try both at the same time.
Julie and I worked at Level One and just as Jillian promised, I felt like I wanted to die. I couldn't make it through the workouts without gasping, panting and cursing the lovely and fit Ms. Michaels.
So when Julie and I decided to just concentrate on running, I was totally cool with that. I put the DVD away and didn't think much more about it. I fell in love with my treadmill.
Recently however, between frustation with my lack of progress in the dress size department and getting a little bored with the treadmill every single day, I began to reconsider. A friend of mine posted every day in January as she worked through the Shreds. Now Rene is incredibly fit anyway, but she had high praise for the workouts.
Today I had an "early dismissal" from school after the district spelling bee, so I had plenty of time for the workout. I dusted off the dvd, shut the bedroom door so my nosy dogs would leave me alone, and got down to business. I've got 20 minutes to spare.
I decided to be brave and try out the Level 2 workout; after all, I have been running nearly every day. Turns out I did pretty well. Well enough to try it again tomorrow. I had to stop less during this workout than my first few of Level 1 last year. That must be progress.
Jillian informed me that she wanted me to feel like I was gonna die. Mission accomplished. But she doesn't scare me anymore. Hah!
My arms will be killing me tomorrow; I can already feel it, but they need a lot of work. I walked a mile and a quarter on the treadmill afterward. Just a little extra calorie burn. Pizza is on the menu tonight. Whew!
Something more has to be done.
Re-enter Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred to my life. When Julie and I tried it a year or so ago, it damn near killed me the first few times I did it. We started running with Luke's about the same time and our trainers sagely advised we not try both at the same time.
Julie and I worked at Level One and just as Jillian promised, I felt like I wanted to die. I couldn't make it through the workouts without gasping, panting and cursing the lovely and fit Ms. Michaels.
So when Julie and I decided to just concentrate on running, I was totally cool with that. I put the DVD away and didn't think much more about it. I fell in love with my treadmill.
Recently however, between frustation with my lack of progress in the dress size department and getting a little bored with the treadmill every single day, I began to reconsider. A friend of mine posted every day in January as she worked through the Shreds. Now Rene is incredibly fit anyway, but she had high praise for the workouts.
Today I had an "early dismissal" from school after the district spelling bee, so I had plenty of time for the workout. I dusted off the dvd, shut the bedroom door so my nosy dogs would leave me alone, and got down to business. I've got 20 minutes to spare.
I decided to be brave and try out the Level 2 workout; after all, I have been running nearly every day. Turns out I did pretty well. Well enough to try it again tomorrow. I had to stop less during this workout than my first few of Level 1 last year. That must be progress.
Jillian informed me that she wanted me to feel like I was gonna die. Mission accomplished. But she doesn't scare me anymore. Hah!
My arms will be killing me tomorrow; I can already feel it, but they need a lot of work. I walked a mile and a quarter on the treadmill afterward. Just a little extra calorie burn. Pizza is on the menu tonight. Whew!
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