Although I am generally more active and willing to be outside in the summer months, I often gain weight when it’s warm outside. Every day, I wear the stretchiest, loosest, most breathable clothing I own. While I walk more places, it’s typically to a patio upon which to dine and drink al fresco for hours. By the time cool August nights roll around and I’m donning my jeans, I notice they’re a little more snug than they were in the spring.
Combine this with an increasing number on the scale and a recent vacation during which I ate and drank my way across the port towns of southern New England, I’ve been pushing myself hard to exercise this week. I made my valiant and sweaty return to the gym on Monday, stunned at how much of the strength I’d lost in a mere week away. Tuesday I rested (and ate pizza nachos) but I returned yesterday.
Tonight, I was a little tired, but figured I should push myself to do one more fitness class this week. I’d missed the start of a short class by mere moments, so I waited around for the 45 minute (and more challenging) class to begin. The warmup began with some squats. My muscles were tired, but I felt fine. We did a few downward facing dogs and cobra poses to get loose. Sometime between the slowed-down burpees and the mountain climbers, I felt a stabbing pain in my knee.