Shakira’s song, Hips Don’t Lie, played on my ipod today which made me think about my hips. ‘Cuz after a week of cardio and strength training, they are definitely talking to me.
And they are suggesting—quite adamantly—that they were not built for running. Sitting, yes. Walking, sure. Birthing babies, absolutely. But running, um, no. Getting this 40+ inch backside in motion is a feat unto itself, and sustaining the running without the natural side-to-side motion throwing me off the treadmill, well, that’s a miracle.
Given this, it’s no surprise my hips are killing me. And they’re not just a bit sore. I’m talking need-a-walker-with-tennis-balls achy. There are 80-year-olds moving faster than me in the grocery store. All I can say is, OWEE!
Not only are my hips sore, but there’s a little muscle on the outside of my left ankle that’s now awake and letting me know that raising myself up on my tiptoes while holding thirty pound weights, blows.
My sweet personal trainer Marq, says those little muscles are important for extending the foot forward and contracting it. Basically for flexing and pointing the foot. Well, I’m not a prima ballerina. (See previous comment about size of backside.) I have no intention of pirouetting across the Landmark Theatre stage. But Marq says quietly, earnestly, and oh-so-nicely, that they’re important anyway and yes, I’ll discover little muscles that are sore because we’re working my whole body.
Yeah, no kidding. I would love to sink, defeated, into a fetal position right now, but drawing my legs up toward my body makes my abs sore too.