I had a minor surgery two weeks ago, which means I haven’t been able to go to the gym in a long time.  Over the last six months, I have turned into something of a gym rat, working out with a trainer twice a week and on my own 4 times a week.  I do get a bit obsessive sometimes, and fitness has defintely become an obsession.  So when my surgeon told me no workouts at all for at least 2 weeks after surgery (including lifting anything over 10 lbs.), and nothing vigorous after that for another 4-6 weeks, I was absolutely beside myself.  We spent 10 days traveling right before my surgery, as well, and I was only able to fit in a couple of runs during that time.  So it’s been a reeeaaally long time since I’ve had any exercise at all.  And yes, I’ve gained weight and lost some muscle.  What can I say — eating and drinking are highly enjoyable activities, and my metabolism isn’t what it used to be.

Today was my first day back in the gym.  My trainer took me through a workout that followed the rules my surgeon set out.  No clenching the abs.  No impact.  I could definitely tell that I hadn’t been there for awhile — I’m noticeably less strong and have lower cardio fitness.  Scary how fast it can be lost.  I’ve been assured that I’ll get it back quickly too, though.  One can hope.

Even better than working out again (how sick is it that I’m looking forward to the sore muscles?) was seeing my trainer, Jenny, who has become a great friend.  She and her boyfriend are taking me out tonight at my neighborhood pub to entertain me while my husband is on a long business trip in Asia.  I expect we’ll have a very, very good time.

I was telling Jenny today that the one bonus of not being able to go to the gym every day was that I got a ton of writing and submitting done.  It’s very easy to procrastinate when one is busy with other obsessions, and working out that much eats up a lot of time.  My goal for easing back into the gym thing this time is to try and do it without losing time for writing.  If only I could count on the endorphin rush every time I sit down to write.  I get it sometimes, if things are flowing and I’m in the poetry zone, but more often it’s a lot of work and no lovely rush of happy brain chemicals at the end.  Perhaps this is why poets have such a reputation for drug and alcohol abuse…