Monday, December 15, 2008
I've decided just to suck it up and take a week off of working out. I did a 12kg 40 round VO2 max protocol workout yesterday hitting 7 reps per round, and my left shoulder cussed me like a red-headed stepchild as a result of it despite a wholehearted effort at maintaining perfect form, at which I feel like I succeeded. Lately, I've had more migratory aches and pains than I can shake a stick at and have felt like crap otherwise for the last month or so--drippy nose here, cough there, strep, migraines every time I turn around to say nothing of the emotional quagmire. I've finally just decided that it's time to take a little while off and let my body rest. For the last year and a half, I have taken at most 3 days off in a row and done that only once or twice, so intellectually I know it is time. Knowing it intellectually and accepting it are two different things, however. I made this decision last night and since making it have done nothing but try to think of things I could do. "Maybe I could still grease the groove with pistols and pull-ups, or maybe the wii will make a nice light substitute for activity, or maybe..." and so forth and so on. Taking this time off scares the hell out of me. I worry that I won't have the gumption to start back regularly, to jump back into the routine. How much muscle will I lose? Will I get mushier? God forbid, will I gain weight? I know that some of these questions are ludicrous and others are valid, but they are all there nonetheless, marching in a constant parade through my brain.