It was a long week off. After last Wednesday's THREE sessions, I was off to run and gun in the Southwest. Packing feather light, there was not only zero workout gear, but precious little time to get in one anyway.
Every athletically conscientious traveler knows this. It is one of the reasons we have franchise gyms. 24-hour fitness centers across the street from the Ramada, as example.
Making matters even worse are the Denny's, Burger Kings or Waffle Houses standing and beckoning between your room and the gym.
Let's see: French Slam or Stairmaster? Whopper with cheese or the squat rack? A pecan waffle or an hour of cardio?
Tough choices. Even for the most focused among us.
Missing a couple of sessions is no big deal in the big fitness scheme of things. But an entire week is.
Which is exactly how my week shook out. I was busier than the proverbial one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, up before dawn and home well after for five days. Coming and going was worth one each, with the net net being six days of nada. Muy male.
Making this morning's Super Eight set (#5) terse at the least and scary at best. I was nervous, an anxious state bolstered by last night's frustratingly real dreams of my pacemaker needing a new password and user name…..or else. A new TSA rule, I was informed, to keep terrorists from implanting IEDs where a pacer should go.
It is now 'tween time. One down and one to go. Tonight should be a piece of cake compared to this morning's level of outrageous intensity.
After another week of testing, we now know the value of consistency.
This is nothing new. The caveat being, that the better one's condition going in - the better one's chances of getting it back.
All made easier with a bypass of the fast food joints and a little something of something. A run, a jog, a walk.
Without this, it will be worse than expected.
Please trust me. And pass the strawberries.