Yes, it’s true. I very much enjoy kicking ass on a daily basis, sometimes powering through two or more workouts in a single day. I am very awesome that way, but there are times when my body is not. On those days, I suck it up and rest my weary muscles.
Resting does not mean I am curled in bed with a box from Chocolate Lab, watching Fashion Police and The Daily Show…necessarily. There are days like that, too, but I feel I earn them because I spend so many of my days kicking ass. In general, resting means I don’t do a formal workout. I (yawn) scour the house; I (yay!) strap the babe into a stroller and stroll; I (even better!) wander the mall and salivate over fashions I can’t afford. I’m still moving, just not at quite so an accelrated rate. Sometimes (not as often as I should), I stretch or do calming yoga, which makes my brain happy, because it can then shut up about not working out. Because, folks, let’s face it: no matter how often or how hard I exercise, I always have a some whiney little guilt in the deep dark areas of my Type A brain when I take a full rest day. I’ve learned to accept it and bitch slap it every now and then when it gets too loud, but it never completely leaves. Like me, it’s not a quitter.
I do enjoy soaking up a little extra reading time on rest days. And yes, catching up on the DVR list. And this summer, there will be hours spent lounging poolside…if the babe agrees to nap at any point…BUT…one day is enough for me. I need to sweat. I need to kick and punch and lift. I need to get back to kicking ass.