The harder the set, the longer I need to rest afterward, the more likely the inner slug is to suggest getting up and doing something else while I wait. (Slug: You have to wait two whole minutes between sets? What are you going to do with all that time? Why not check your email... oh look, you need to respond to that email right away...)
To un-thwart the situation, I've started slipping in a few sets while I'm at work. This is usually safe, since the cubicle walls are over 5 feet tall and I'm not on a main traffic aisle. (Plus, the office cleaner is a lot more conscientious about that vacuuming stuff than I am.) It's perfectly safe.
Except for last Friday.
Picture me, lying on the floor psyching myself to push the body upwards one last time.
Picture me, suddenly noticing my nice, shy cow-orker* pausing in the doorway to my cubicle.
Picture me, quickly getting up on my hands and knees and trying to pretend I was looking for a paperclip.
I don't think the ruse worked.
Dang. I mean, he's a really nice guy, but extremely shy. I've just gotten him to the point where he will say "Good morning" instead of ducking his head and blushing as he passes by.
Exercise du jour: Passed the 2nd week test -- barely -- of doing 16 push ups in a row. So it's on to the 3rd week.
Push up challenge, week 3 set 1
|set 5||max (at least 9)|
Plus, 3 miles walking (albeit at a snail's pace over the ice)
*Look, it's a local spelling. At least, it's local in Silicon Valley (and Dilbert cartoons).