I Worked Out Everyday For A Week So You Don’t Have To


I like to consider myself an active person. I walk to my car, I take the stairs sometimes, and I get laid every now and then. I may have been an athlete in high school, but that sure as shit is no longer the case. I get winded walking up stairs. I’ll get all hyped to go on a morning run, and then oversleep until it’s too hot to workout outside. Basically, I’m a lazy fuck.

Like many other girls after graduation, I decided to change a bunch of shit in my life. I cut my hair, got a job, and decided that this was the summer I was finally going to get back to “high school hot.” So, I got Class Pass. Here’s where I fucked up, though. While signing up in a fitness trance induced by watching too many videos from Victoria’s Secret fitness and the Skinny Bitch Collective (crazy cult model goddesses, damn you!), I selected a ten class per month option instead of five. Remember how I told you I was a lazy fuck?

Well, here I was with seven days left until my prepaid month was over and I had eight classes left. Fuck me, right? Rather than admit defeat and waste about $100, I decided there was only one thing for me to do: spend the week working out like a supermodel. This is my story.

Monday: Surfing-Inspired Core Class

My core is already okay, despite the little pouch between my belly button and crotch that refuses to GTFO. I have never felt more like a white millennial girl than I did at that moment, attending a class based entirely on surfboards mounted to these bouncy balls, so it felt like surfing, just without the wet hair, salt water up the nose, shark attacks, and, you know, the actual ocean. It was great until we had to pair up with whoever was next to us, and of course, I was next to a dude, who, since I am unlucky in all things, wasn’t hot. TBH, I don’t want a sweaty guy breathing hard that close to me unless we’re on the train to Poundtown, so that was def not my favorite moment.

Tuesday: Boxing

Boxing is the single greatest workout of all time. Period. It’s fun, you go hard in the MF’ing paint since you feel like a badass with the wraps and the gloves, and you get to hit stuff while imagining it’s your ex-boyfriend’s face. Wins all around. I’ve never sweat so much in my life, but I tried to convince myself I looked more Adriana Lima in a workout ad and less like a red, wet, dying animal. The only casualty was my manicure.

Wednesday: Meditative Yoga And Cryotherapy

At this point, my entire body felt like Jell-O. All of it. I was sore in places where I didn’t even know I had muscles. It seriously makes me wonder how anyone actually works out hard every day. I’m sure it gets easier if you did it all the time, but I felt like the dead-and-improved Mountain had picked me up and slammed me into a wall, and instead of dying, all my bones turned to goo.

I still had to get all these classes in, so I did yoga to stretch myself out and decided to throw in a wildcard: cryotherapy. Cryotherapy is fucking weird, just putting that out there. It was covered by Class Pass and I needed to use up a space and I was game for anything to alleviate the soreness. I show up, and they literally put you in this upright chamber that looks like a coffin and basically dry-freeze you for three minutes. The tech was talking to me the whole time, and she kept telling me that it burns a bananas amount of calories — we’re talking like 800. It burns that many calories because your body is working extra hard to keep you alive and not freeze to death for those three minutes, which is kind of terrifying. I survived, thawed out, went home, and snoozed, dreaming about how the fuck models and celebrities do this shit daily.

Thursday: Surf-Inspired Yoga Class

It’s actually insane how well that cryotherapy worked. Temporarily turning myself into a frozen microwave dinner actually really reduced my soreness, and I was able to keep up with my workout-a-day routine. I went back to the same place as Monday, this time for a yoga-on-surfboards class. I wanted to do more cardio, but at this point in the week, I was fucking TIRED. Not sure if my body was just in shock due to leaving my sedentary lifestyle behind, or if everyone who works out that much is always tired, but I was dying, and still a little sore.

Friday: Indoor Rowing And Cryotherapy

I figured I might as well get a lot of variety in here while I could, so I hit up indoor rowing. It was surprisingly low-impact, and they used the same machine as Frank Underwood, which impressed me way more than it should have. I also made another trip to the cryotherapy people, because a friend wanted to go to boxing with me the next day, and I knew my arms would be fucked. It doesn’t get any less weird and uncomfortable the second time, you just know what to expect.

Saturday: Boxing

Again, boxing just makes you feel like a rockstar, and the second time around I was definitely getting the hang of the moves. Something about sweating that much always makes me feel like it’s working. Like I’m sweating out all the shit I eat, all the booze, and all the bad life choices (LOL, if only).

All in all, it was a hard week, but I learned a lot. Obviously, people can workout every day. Models, celebrities, and pro athletes do it all the time. But it’s their job. They have the extra time in the day to nap, to hit up cryotherapy or physical therapy or a masseuse every day, because that’s pretty much all they do. Mere mortals like myself definitely shouldn’t do it though. Yeah, I felt strong and fit, but it was way too much in one week. You can’t rush it — trust me, I’m that bitch who takes one abs class and complains that my six pack hasn’t come in yet.

Would I keep working out everyday? Hell fucking no! That shit SUCKED and it consumed my life. I’m definitely keeping the ten workouts a month thing, but I learned my lesson to space them out and not be so lazy all the time. Maybe just like half the time.

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PlattyBlonde is a senior who divides her time responsibly between cheap alcohol, bad boys, and worrying about her hair.

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