So, I have decided that Jillian, with her infectious zombie work out virus, is trying to sabotage my car. She would like it if all I had to do all day is stay home and work out. You need proof?
Sunday: Wake up an a ridiculous hour for a weekend, drink coffee, do my workout, new stuff hurts, some things are easier, still need to stand out on the porch to cool down because I feel like I will puke. Eating cereal by myself since the cat was smart enough to realize he didn’t even want to be out there. Look over at my car about half way through my cereal, boom, flat tire. Boyfriend takes it off, looks at it, boom, bent rim on the inside.
Great.
On a Sunday.
Monday: Got someone working on locating an original rim at a salvage place, get up, do my workout, pack lunch for Little Monkey, go out to start the car to warm it up, boom, dead battery.
WTF Jillian? I can’t stay with you all day. Even though I am feeling better, completing more reps, and having greater endurance, this has got to stop!
Damn it Jillian. Just leave me alone.
Queen of the Universe 