I went to the gym last week with one of my friends from work (she’s trying to stick to a New Year’s Resolution, and I’m a child who can’t do anything even vaguely good for me (or, let’s be honest, anything that isn’t watching tv) unless I have someone holding my hand and/or guilt-tripping me every step of the way).

I didn’t die, which was very nice, and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. That is, until I remembered that this is my usual pattern. My body likes to play mind games with me, and usually gives me a free pass on my first workout back after a ridiculously long slothful stretch, luring me into a false sense of success slash physical fitness. “Oh hey, everything’s fine! Still got it!” Then, of course, about 20 minutes after my workout, I lose my ability to move like a normal human, and give up all hope of a second workout until the statute of limitations runs out and I’ve waited so long that my body can play its trick on me again and I can have another reasonably successful workout.

I mean, this isn’t great, but hey, whatever, it’s not like I’m the only person in the world who isn’t in as great shape as they’d like to be.

Except.

I think I’m supposed to be a very hands-on track coach in about two weeks.