I Heart My Lifting Gloves

I'm not one to whine and complain. Okay maybe I am, but only when it comes to running...or leg workouts...or cardio of any kind. I'll do it, but I reserve my right to whine at least a little bit.

But I mean when it comes to pain. I've given birth to four children, plus I have a really deep paper cut on the tip of my ring finger, so I KNOW what pain is. (Alright, maybe I've whined a little about the paper cut, but the point is that I've endured some pain in my life. Keep with me here.)

I will never, NEVER lift weights without my lifting gloves ever again. I used to do it all the time, but either my skin has become more dainty and delicate with the passing of time or someone lined all of the handles of the dumbbells with sandpaper. Or maybe the weights I'm lifting now are quite a bit heavier than they were when I lifted in the past. (They are actually quite a bit heavier than I used to lift, but I didn't want to toot my own horn too much. I'm trying to practice humility.)

My hands were literally ON FIRE! My palms were a shade of red akin to a fire hydrant which I seriously needed because I might have mentioned that MY HANDS WERE ON FIRE!!!! I actually had trouble focusing on not dropping weights on my head. My hands hurt enough to make me want to slam my head into a wall just so I would forget how much they were hurting. I thought I needed to ice my palms. People in the gym actually staggered backwards as the heat radiating from my scalding hands hit them. There may have actually been light emanating from my palms.

I swear I am not exaggerating. I swear.

My hands are better now, 24 hours after the top layer of skin was shorn away by the free weights. They are still slightly pink, however.

I love you, my lifting gloves. I promise never to take your kick-ass stylishness for granted ever again