You want me to lift what?

I got off work a little early today and decided to take in a little group power class. Basically weightlifting in numbers. I showed up late, which I seriously don't recommend just because you have to get materials like weights and steps and mats set up.

I used pretty light weights because, frankly, I didn't know what I was doing. The class seemed to move at a relatively quick pace and just as the muscle group we were working on was about to go kaput, we moved on. I think this might be a nice supplement to spinning.

I pulled into my parking lot at home and felt pretty good besides being a little weak and very sweaty. I started to walk to my apartment when I realized that the Mount Everest of stairs lie between me and my living room floor (where I had made plans to lay on my back and sigh for an hour before showering.) I seriously contimplated sitting down and screaming until my husband came to find me and carry me up the stairs. Squats apparently are not my friend. This is when I discovered I was not just a little weak, I was downright swaying.

I began moving up the stairs at the speed of smell chanting "gotta want it, gotta want it." My thighs began to tremble. My arms were useless blobs of jelly weighing me down and I tried to swing them forward to help crawl up the evil stairs. I blame my husband for insisting we live on the second floor. I plan on punishing him later tonight by asking if he thinks I've gained weight since we got married. Oh yeah, that is my kind of evil.