Working out for its own sake

I definitely did something new today. I admit, I was kinda burned out from the fire - mwhaha - and the lack of routine and the total drudgery of the workout routine that I did have, so I didn't work out, like really workout, for two weeks. Sure, I played tennis once or twice, went for some long walks, went for a swim in Whistler, but unless the sweat is pouring out of me, and I feel like Guantanamo Bay would be a better fate than the one I'm imposing on my body by my workout, then I'm not working out. So by today, I was absolutely excited to workout.

Usually, when I workout, it's because a) I want to lose weight and b) I want to be healthy. Though I will admit I'm feeling lumpier than usual, and so recognize the need and desire to get back on the weight loss wagon, today, I worked out for neither of those reasons. Today, I kicked my own ass on the treadmill and the weight room because I wanted to. And no, that's not some messed up self-masochism. I wanted to feel my muscles exhausted, I wanted to pant for breath, I wanted to burn. Okay, that sounds kinda pervy. Or, like I'm too stupid to figure out that great sex would provide the effects described above. Nope, not stupid. But, unfortunately for me cause I'm lazy and sex is easier than a hard workout, sex and a hard workout just don't produce the same endorphins.

My workout today was everything I hoped it'd be. I was so damn happy to be able to work out, that I had the opportunity to do it. I ran harder than I've run in at least six months, my resistance training was challenging and kept my heart rate up in the training zone, and I had to walk home from the gym on wobbly legs. It was fucking awesome.