Ugh. Tomorrow, I fully expect to wake up and not be able to walk correctly. I'm going to look like some two-bit whore who had a good night with multiple men. I'm fully expecting to be miserable and sore.
Now, before you go getting all perverted on me, let me assure you that my comments have NOTHING what-so-ever to do with sex. At all.
No, my reasons for being sore aren't nearly as much fun as a wild romp in the hay. Nope. My reasons are because I'm a freakin' idiot.
See, last night, for some truly unknown reason (Was I drunk? I dunno, but it's possible), I told Steve I'd work out with him in the morning. Now those of you that know me know that I MUST have been drunk to say something like that. I'm the epitome of the non-exerciser. But last night, I was possessed by the devil and told Steve I'd do some weight training with him today. Once I got both girls off to school, I had no choice but to follow through, or risk hearing shit about it for the rest of
the day week year my life.
Then it FINALLY began. Yes, folks... the gutting of the sunroom is officially underway.
While Steve worked on that, I worked on the rest of the house, carrying things up two flights of steps to the attic (repeatedly), carrying toys down into the basement (repeatedly), and general picking stuff up. So my legs got a workout that way too.
Then the girls got home from school and wanted to "help" Steve in the sunroom, so they did that for a few hours.
And then, because I hadn't inflicted enough pain on myself, Steve and I did some yoga using a yoga tape I had dug out of the attic.
So like I said, who needs legs anyway? Ugh.