Excess and Victory in Scottsdale

Scottsdale is a bit like Texas in that all things are excessive here. Our visit has been a time of visiting friends and getting work done in our hotel room, mostly. It seems so easy to indulge here! I've been shopping far too much, had 3 massages, and every visit with friends involves food and drink in large amounts. Not only that, but our hotel offers breakfast every morning and dinner 4 nights a week. I'm certainly feeling the effects and not doing enough to mitigate it

Being on the road has it's pitfalls, one of which is overdoing it from time to time.

Fish tacos and homemade Raspberry Parfaits with Grumpy Mike and his family, Prime Tenderloin Steaks and Roasted Asparagus with Biggus and Kim, Chicken Fried Steak with Biscuits and Gravy with Paul, and an Angus Burger with French Fries with Kelly, have all added up to spell waistline disaster.

Since we are going to be riding away from Scottsdale on Tuesday, I've been trying to make the most of the hotel gym this last week. Amid struggles with Fibromyalgia pain and busy with work, I've not worked out as much as I should and I'm noticing the pounds appearing back on my midsection.

By this evening I was tired, but not terribly so, after spending the day out with my friend Kelly and her daughter Kassie. When Steve headed out the door to the gym, guilt crept over me. He hadn't said a word, but I knew I needed to go. I donned my gear and pouted the short stroll of shame to the elliptical that called my name.

This machine seemed to know I had been cursing it, because it performed oddly. The settings were stuck on the highest level of resistance and the heart rate monitor wouldn't work. I struggled for 5 minutes trying to get it to lessen the level, loudly groaning in pain. After 10 minutes it allowed me to adjust the level down a few notches, but the heart rate monitor never worked.

I wanted to quit so damn badly, but I wouldn't allow myself to make excuses. I pushed onward, struggling and groaning, feeling more and more lightheaded and nauseous. But I would prevail or die, as I was not going to give in to my own weakness. Can you just imagine?

"My machine is broken. I'm quitting. . . "

No. Not today, not ever.

When my cardio routine was over I had completed 25 minutes of heart-crunching exercise, so much so that I nearly fainted upon my dismount.

After catching my breath, I meandered proudly back to our room and vomited my dinner thusly. I have never barfed after a workout, but this must be an added bonus of calories undigested, adding to the overall point of working out in the first place.

The spoils of victory are mine!