"If you feel like you're going to vomit, that's okay!"

That's what my spinning instructor told the class yesterday when she was making us do some hard, terrible things. Luckily, nobody did vomit, and I frankly wasn't nauseated. But the fact that I was in a class where the instructor expected nausea made me very happy. I know, I'm a freak. But I'm a medium-core freak who likes to pretend she's hardcore. Which means that I like this instructor, even though she makes her class want to vomit. Or maybe I like her because of it.

This morning, however, I felt solidly medium-core because I could barely lift myself out of bed. I've discovered some leg muscles that I didn't even know I had. It seriously hurt to put pants on because it meant that I had to raise each leg to get it into the pant leg. Perhaps I should consider hiring some kind of home health aide to roll me over and dress me until the situation improves. I'm obviously only barely capable of performing these activities myself. The best part is that a home health aide would probably also tell me that it would be okay if I wanted to vomit.