The past week I pushed the gamut. I ran just about everyday when I made the decision after the Belle Plaine Half Marathon that I would go to 3-4 days a week and essentially alternate with P90X. So how did I fall off the wagon?
I'm not quite sure. It could be all the new literature I'm reading. Or perhaps because the weather was so grand and I didn't have any resistance training on the calendar. I did do two sessions of Les Mills Pump just because I don't like starting a new round of P90X cold. Am I addicted to exercise and running? Or have I sufficiently deluded my brain into believing I need it everyday? Maybe I have successfully altered my own DNA.
I have to admit, I need the rest. My calves are a bit achy. My shoulders are tight. My chest feels like I stayed too long in the beer cooler at Frank's Busy Bee. And I have a dreadful case of post-nasal drip. Still, rest makes me cranky.
I need to remind myself on rest day that I truly have earned it. I deserve it. I require it. If it were a doctor's prescription, I'd heed it, right?
Next rest day, I vow to do nothing. And I mean nothing. If I do nothing, then it truly is a rest day, right? Perhaps then my guilt won't be so deep, and I can enjoy my rest day instead of dreading it.
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