The ongoing saga of love, tears, and the vindication of the human spirit (actually, just the daily journal of my wife and I and our attempt to complete Bob Harper’s Inside Out Method workout from www.mytrainerbob.com).

Rough night.  Weird dreams.  Went to bed stiff and sore, then dreamt a long, rambling, and vividly-colored dream that culminated in me being mistakenly taken as a Hairdresser and Facial Expert to the Stars, or at least to Jennifer Love Hewitt.  No, I am not making that up, and no, I don’t know what that means.  The fact that we were at a strange wedding pre-party for a co-worker of mine didn’t help it make any more sense.

Anyway, I was awoken from this dream, not by the sounds of electronic waves crashing from my alarm clock (I will never be able to use a BEEP BEEP BEEP alarm clock again), but instead by our trio of mutts who decide, for no good reason, to leap up and run outside barking.  Perhaps one had dreamt about being a Poodle to the Stars.  I’ll never know, but I do know it’s not 4:30, it’s just after 4.  Fannnnnnnn-tastic.  The soreness in my right shoulderblade (“Yep, I’m still here!” it says joyously as I squint at the clock) keeps me awake.  I try to go back to sleep anyway, even if it means washing Jennifer Love Hewitt’s hair (I mean, I’ve never even watched any of her shows – why her?  Anyone?).  No luck.  Alarm sounds, here we go again.

The only difference in today’s routine is that Friday is weigh-in day.  I was kind’ve excited for it, honestly.  Today marked the first time that I’d been doing Bob’s workouts for an entire week (did them Saturday and Sunday before starting the workout program itself on Tuesday), and I’d really felt like I’d lost weight this week, but I was also apprehensive, because I’ve felt that way before, and the stupid scale smugly informs me that I’ve gained a half-pound, and in those moments I believe that the machines are alive and they hate us and enjoy making us suffer.  Lady Aravan goes first, and I am unsurprised but still psyched.  She passes another milestone, I am incredibly proud of her.  She shrugs it off – all in a week’s work – but I can tell she’s pleased.

My turn.  Bleary eyes focus on the little digital readout.  Last week I was 184.5, meaning I’d hit my goal of being 185 by Labor Day.  I honestly didn’t know where to shoot for after that – I’m 5’11”, and I really don’t know what my healthy weight should be – but I had settled on 175 by the end of November.  Seemed plausible enough, anyway.  The scale is blinking its little number at me insistently, like it wants me to leave so it can get back to sleep.  181.  I look again.  181?  Holy Flurking Schmidt.

3.5 pounds.  In a week.  For me, that’s unprecedented.  I haven’t weighed 181 since I zipped past it sometime in my second year of marriage.  That was 12 years ago.  Lady Aravan is super proud of me.  I am mostly in shock.  Still am.

Not a lot of time to pat myself on the back, though.  Bob’s a-waitin’.  He looks impatient as he finishes tying his shoe and looks at me.  “Let’s do this,” as he is wont to say, and it’s time for another Strength session.  OK.  Today is the first day that I feel tired before it begins.  The elation from the weigh-in is gone as I realize that my muscles are tired.  I am sore head to foot.  I have never worked out like this in my life, and here on Day 4, my body is crabby enough to let me know.  My breath is whistling, I can’t get in a groove.

Down and Outs.  I squat down, 10-pounders in my hands, place them on the floor, shoot my legs out behind me into plank, hold it, jump my feet back up, and stand.  Again.  Again.  My body is ready to drop the weights and go back to bed.  The Captain Kirk in my brain isn’t having it, though.  He’s suave and smug (and of, course, comfortably reclining in his captain’s chair) and casually asks if the Mr. Scott lurking in there can give increased power by a factor of 2.  Mr. Scott answers, “Aye sir, and maybe just a wee bit more.”

It kicks in.  I try to ignore the clock and focus on just doing what I’m told.  Bob is hectoring all of us, a living version of our own Captain Kirks, confident and smiling, and of course, not doing the exercises.  We’ve been through this before, but it isn’t easy.  Arms still shake and spasm as I lift the weights out to the side, pinkies first (“High to the sky!  High to the sky!”).  The jump squats are still brutal.  The overhead press is an exercise in pure unadulterated pain, and when they’re done, we are supposed to keep our hands in the air.  “Feel the WEIGHT of the CEILING coming down on your arms fight now.”  Oh I do.  At that moment, I feel like the entire house is resting on those little overcooked muscles at the tops of my arms.  Bob tells Helen that if she drops her arms – they’re almost halfway down – then we do it all over again.  Like always, she sucks it up and presses them back – bless you, Helen – and we get to drop our arms.  Cue the dirty look at Bob.

We make it through again.  The pushups and t-stands are still agony, I still collapse halfway through before picking it back up, but maybe I do a little more than last time.  For the first time, Lady Aravan and I do all of the mountain climbers at the end, us and Helen.  I don’t know if the other 2 do them as well, but I’ll bet money Stephanie did.  Francisco I’m not so sure of.

I’m so tired that it takes me 15 minutes to eat breakfast, 2 pieces of toast and a handful of grapes.  It doesn’t help that the toast is Ezekiel bread, which I believe is made from old pressboard bookshelves that have been cut and formed to vaguely mimic bread.  I then proceed to forget to pack my protein shake and meal bar in my lunch bag, leaving me an entire meal down for work.  Oops.

Lady Aravan puts on an old pair of jeans that had just been called up from the bullpen 2 days before.  They go one easily, even easier than they had when she tried them on just the day before yesterday.  She looks at me, and I at her, and she’s astounded.  “2 days?  I look different in 2 days?!”  She does.  They fit her perfectly.

Today is a big day: pushup test.  Besides the weight, my other goal for Labor Day is to be able to do 100 consecutive pushups.  I’ve been following the workout from one hundred pushups.com for the last few weeks, and Wednesday I did the last set of the final week.  Two weeks ago I was at 75.  I feel good; I think I’ll do it today.  If not, next week.