This morning was my first Strength Training exercise class. I loved it. And I usually hate exercise. I have to tell you, though, I chose carefully when signing up for this class. It's only a half hour. There were two other classes that bookend this one, but they are one hour each. Not a chance.
I looked like a goofball with my Star Trek t-shirt (Hey, I think "Resistance is Futile" is a perfect mantra for an exercise class) and a pair of my daughter's pajama pants, but I kept up, mostly. I think the thing I loved the best was that I wasn't overwhelmed this first time out.
When it was time to choose weights, the instructor didn't know what size barbells to advise me to pick up. She asked me what my current exercise regimen was. I said, "Uh ... zero." She assigned me five-pounders. Perfect. Maybe by the end of the eight weeks, I'll work my way up to ten-pounders. Wouldn't that be great!
In any case, I came home, took a shower and now I feel really charged up about writing ... my exercise stretching is carrying me into the home stretch of writing the next White House Chef book (tentatively titled: EGGSECUTIVE ORDERS).
And, just to continue the theme ... my saying that I'm in the home stretch of this book is definitely stretching the truth.