I’ve messed with your butt for a long, damn time. And after all this time, I’ve learned one thing about you: you’re forgetful as all get out. I swear I go a week or two without playing with you and BAM! It’s like we’ve never met before. You force me to start back at day one. I have to go back to a modified position. You make my arms jello-like again. You bring me pain and remind me how frickin’ needy you are. Therefore, I shall attempt to do another round of She Love Me, She Loves Me Not—but I have a feeling you’re going to end up with more negatives than positives. But that’s just because, as I type, my arms hurt because of you. (I apparently have an excellent memory.)
She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not: Push-ups
She loves me: I love how cut I look when in push-up position. Anything that helps the guns…
She loves me not: I hate it that after a week or so off, you’ve forgotten all the dang work I’ve put in. Back to modified? Damn you!
She loves me: I love when I get back into a groove, and I can actually do my four rounds of 10 without breaking a sweat.
She loves me not: I hate when my butt and hips start to dip down, and I’ve wasted the good you’re supposed to do.
She loves me: I love when I graduate from modified to regular push-ups.
She loves me not: I hate that at that unmodified point, I can only do a couple of push-ups whereas I can pump those bad girls out on my knees.
She loves me: I love how you motivate me to keep going. You’re one of those workout moves that symbolize strength and badass-ness. Every time Gwen gets on stage and starts pounding push-ups out, out I drool. You’re the ultimate test.
Okay, so it’s a love/hate relationship. There’s no turning my back on you; constant TLC is needed, but if you give me those arms I’ve always wanted, then I’ll follow you, dearest push-up, into the sunset for as long as I can push up and come down!
Where are you on the push-up scale? Are you a modifier like me? Have you graduated to regular? How many can you pump out? —Tish