I didn't make it to Curves today. Or yesterday.
I didn't skip it out of laziness or busyness, although I am very busy and fairly lazy.
I skipped my workout the last two days because I injured myself badly enough that I'm having trouble walking, let alone working out.
You say you want to know how I hurt myself? After I wrote in my blog Wednesday night I went outside with my kids. It was a fabulous night, with really cool clouds that were turning into dragons, griffins, turtles, and other shapes. Then as it got darker we decided to celebrate the most daylight of the year by running around our yard like lunatics. Bethany made a crown of leaves for her head. Colin even joined us. We were having a great time.
Sometimes when the weather is warm and I'm having fun, I get an overwhelming urge to do a cartwheel. The first one that I did wasn't great. I didn't put enough oomph into it. So I needed to try again. The second one was beautiful. My kids said it looked great. I could feel the extension, especially in my hip as there was this tremendous popping and this jolt of pain through my body. I managed to land it perfectly and then proceeded to hop aound for a few minutes before I sat down on the ground in tears.
I wasn't crying because it hurt. (Even though it did. Really bad.) I was crying because I knew that I had just done my last carwheel. I was crying because I'm 41 and I can't go on rollercoasters anymore because of my neck. I was crying because the only good parts of my day Wednesday were dancing with my husband and running around with my kids and I was afraid I'd just really messed it up.
So I didn't go to Curves. My hip/leg/whatever is feeling enough better that I think it's going to be okay, although I'm still sitting on a pillow and walking very carefully.
Getting older sucks. But it's better than the alternative.
(By the way, you can laugh. I did.)