Without limits

Yesterday afternoon I was moping around and looking for something fun or challenging to do when I had a wonderful, terrible idea: a ZWOW workout! After a week of holiday during which I sampled various communist carbs in the form of rolls, oily white rice and shortbread cookies (you can taste the comrade-ship!) and drank copious amounts of delicious, delicious rum, a short workout is exactly what this lady needs.

So, I call up the latest vid and find that its title refers to vomiting. But for whatever reason I'm not worried by this. 80 push ups? Cool. 40 burpees and 60 jump lunges? No problemo. 

HA! I was loco to think that that could all go down easy like a Banana Mama. No, I would soon find out that it was more like a Zombie, the holiday beverage containing three types of rum that granted me the only holiday hangover ever. (Well, I did consume two in a row.)

After ZWOW #57, I felt great, just as I did after the Zombies. 

Today after waking up, I felt sore muscles spring up like tulips in April. A few around the shoulder area, a pair sprouting on my backside. More of them taking root on my quads. 

And right now, after a 23km run, my body feels like a twisted garden of zombified Venus Fly Traps at the height of growing season, craving small children and stray dogs to quench its overgrown thirst! 

Keep the Ibuprofen flowing, Che.