Day 42 (back-up barbie)

By the end of work yesterday, I felt like someone had stabbed an ice pick just above my left eye ... we're talking the vision-impairing kind of stab. Normally I would've used this an excuse to skip out on the gym. But, the new, irritating me forged ahead.

I walked into the tiny gym/closet and was relieved to see that I had it all to myself. I snagged my favorite dreadmill, tuned all three TVs to a CSI rerun and cranked the volume. I was lovin' life.

By the time Grissom was in the morgue, watching the autopsy of a girl who'd been blugeoned to death, my headache was all but gone and I was feeling pretty great.

Then Barbie came in.

Crap.

Size 4 hopped on the dreadmill next to me and started walking. I tried to keep my eyes focused on Grissom and the cracked skull in his hands, but I couldn't help but notice Barbie eyeing the stats on my display.

She upped her speed to where mine was at. No biggie, but when I increased my speed, she waited a minute and then increased hers to match. What tha' $#@!?

Then she one-upped me on the incline.

Double crap.

I upped mine, as well, my legs crying in pain. I was huffing and puffing, sweat pooling in every crevice.

Barbie had yet to break into labored breathing.

This was psychological gym warfare and I was getting my ass kicked.

After me requisite 35 minutes, I waved my white flag. Congratulated her on well-earned victory and stumbled over to the weights.

While Barbie was totally buggin' yesterday, trying to keep pace with her has actually given me the greatest gift today: undeniably sore muscles (the kind that make it hard to walk, squat, function) ... the badge of honor for any "gym-ie."

Wonder if she'll be back today.