A Fathlete Meets Jillian's "Shred" and Doesn't Die!

OK, possums! I greet you on the second day of my journey with Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. I haven't gotten p90x yet - waiting for that - but so far this is great! I was expecting it to be horrific, because I've heard people can't walk after it. But I guess I've been prepared by all of my workouts with the Notorious Victor, and by all those boot camps at my now-former gym, especially Trina's. Trina is no joke. At all.

Neither is Jillian - I did Level 1 on Wednesday night, and was worked out well but not murdered. On the advice of my bridesmaid and planner and soul sister Kiki, I did Levels 1 and 2 this morning, and I am not gonna be happy tomorrow morning, I can tell you that. It was very challenging - I think I need to get 5-pound hand weights, because some of the lateral moves are hard with the 8 pounders I have. But it was 40 minutes, and I wasn't destroyed. I hear that Level 3 is insane. Like, brutal and bad.

I am gonna run tomorrow, and do Jillian's 1 and 2 on Saturday, because I have Halloween shenanigans on Saturday and am not committing to running Sunday. At all.

A Fathlete Stops Coughing Like A Dying French Courtesan!

So today I returned to my semi-hard core life as a fake athlete, after a nasty cough that made me sound like Satine from "Moulin Rouge." And by the way, I never understood how that girl didn't k know she was dying, what with her passing out and falling out of swings and coughing up blood and whatnot. I can see her not knowing exactly what was wrong with her if the doctors wouldn't tell her. But wouldn't you, at least, be concerned if everytime you opened your eyes, you were somewhere different than you were the last time you were conscious, and everybody around you was trying not to look like "Dag, that girl's gonna die?"

Anyway, I am glad to report that I am neither dying of consumption nor a French courtesan. I got through an hour of Booty Camp, featuring the hilarious and brutal Victor and his love of walking lunges. I do not share that love. But I got through, and only erupted into Satine coughs a couple of times. Then it was off to my swing lesson with the even more hilarious Armando, who proposed some brutal spins that made me totter off my new high heeled dance shoes like a drunk debutante.

Or a coughing French courtesan. You be the judge.

Why I'm going to have tater tots for lunch

This morning, I ran 6.3 miles with my friend Rochelle, otherwise known as TV's Little Rocky, current Florida Golden Gloves champ-een in her weight group and my unofficial trainer. This means that she wears the Garmin GPS distance doohicky, runs backwards to taunt me when I'm slowing down, and yells "Go for it" at various times on our run.

She is my hero.

Then, I came home, at a bowl of Capn Crunch with Crunchberries with soy milk and then went to Boot Camp Class at my gym, where I dusted some really skinny girls, including one with a six-pack, in the final sprint. Nobody noticed but me.

But I'm the one who matters.

I have to not judge my progress by other people because I don't know what their stories are. I don't know what their cholesterol is like, or how fast they run. I just see their abs and want to cry, because I want those abs. Heck, I want the abs I used to have.

But I am having a late lunch, and since I've estimated that I've burned about 1800 calories in my two workouts, I get a small portion of fried potatoes. Just enough to keep me going.