Hello, my friend, hello...
Oh, Neil Diamond. Is there any situation you haven't written a song for??
I've been in a good mood lately. Consistently good, that is. I'm always in a good mood for at least a day or 4 a week. But somehow, I rarely end up writing when I'm in a good mood. Or if I do, it's in a social media form, where I'll get feedback and interaction.
Apparently, my blog is my private, angsty little basement.
BUT NO MORE!
I'm hyper. I've been going to the gym twice a day for almost a full week. Ok, I've been going to the gym at least once a day for a full week. I think I've only actually gone twice in one day... twice. It's hard. I'm lazy, and a total hedonist. I've gotten to the point where the gym truly is fun, and I love how it makes me feel after. But it's not as much fun as so many other things in my life. Like sex, or food, or sitting in my backyard with friends, smoking a hookah and drinking a strawberry lemonade with vodka and mint... But still, the gym really is fun.
I love weight lifting. I always have. There is something incredibly viscerally satisfying about that intense strain on your muscles as you repetitively lift as much weight as you can handle. Especially in my legs. My arms, not so much. I have grandma arms. Literally. They're all saggy and swingy right now. It's pathetic. But my legs have always been very, very strong. And with even the slightest bit of exercise, they start showing muscle definition instead of fat. If only the rest of me were so quick to fall into line!
I've been doing bench presses, for my arms and pecs, in the hope that both my arms and my breasts will start to shrink. And those are fun. I had a picture, a long time ago, of Marilyn Monroe doing a bench press, wearing a bikini top and loose jeans. It's probably the hottest picture ever. So now, when I'm lying on my back lifting two 10lb weights over my head repeatedly, I picture Marilyn in my mind. I don't know if the motivation comes from wanting to look like her or do her, but it works.
The aerobic machines are my enemy. I have no endurance, and get bored RIDICULOUSLY easy. Walking on a treadmill only works for about 15 minutes before I get bored enough to bash through the window in front of me and run down the road screaming. The elliptical is even worse. Plus, it hurts my knees. I can only stay on that thing for 5 minutes at a time. But I find if I do one of those first, then weights, then one of those again, then more weights, I'm ok. I need constant stimulation and promise of reward, so that's a good way to go about it for me.
Can I just say? There is nothing quite like working out in front of mirrors to force you to confront how fat you've gotten? It's not so terrible, because it also allows you to see the shape underneath the fat, to see what you're working towards. But GOD DAMN. I'm the type of person who can look at my reflection in a window and only see the good things. I can walk down the street and strut, even at my heaviest, because... well, I don't know why. Because I look good at any weight, and I know it. Not all the time, but for the most part, I know it.
But working out, and being wimpy, and have ZERO endurance, and seeing the back fat in a tank top... you can't hide from those things when you're at the gym with mirrors surrounding you. It's probably a good thing. It's definitely motivation for me. This back fat WILL DIE. And this belly fat? Oh, it will suffer before it goes.
I've been in a good mood lately. Consistently good, that is. I'm always in a good mood for at least a day or 4 a week. But somehow, I rarely end up writing when I'm in a good mood. Or if I do, it's in a social media form, where I'll get feedback and interaction.
Apparently, my blog is my private, angsty little basement.
BUT NO MORE!
I'm hyper. I've been going to the gym twice a day for almost a full week. Ok, I've been going to the gym at least once a day for a full week. I think I've only actually gone twice in one day... twice. It's hard. I'm lazy, and a total hedonist. I've gotten to the point where the gym truly is fun, and I love how it makes me feel after. But it's not as much fun as so many other things in my life. Like sex, or food, or sitting in my backyard with friends, smoking a hookah and drinking a strawberry lemonade with vodka and mint... But still, the gym really is fun.
I love weight lifting. I always have. There is something incredibly viscerally satisfying about that intense strain on your muscles as you repetitively lift as much weight as you can handle. Especially in my legs. My arms, not so much. I have grandma arms. Literally. They're all saggy and swingy right now. It's pathetic. But my legs have always been very, very strong. And with even the slightest bit of exercise, they start showing muscle definition instead of fat. If only the rest of me were so quick to fall into line!
I've been doing bench presses, for my arms and pecs, in the hope that both my arms and my breasts will start to shrink. And those are fun. I had a picture, a long time ago, of Marilyn Monroe doing a bench press, wearing a bikini top and loose jeans. It's probably the hottest picture ever. So now, when I'm lying on my back lifting two 10lb weights over my head repeatedly, I picture Marilyn in my mind. I don't know if the motivation comes from wanting to look like her or do her, but it works.
The aerobic machines are my enemy. I have no endurance, and get bored RIDICULOUSLY easy. Walking on a treadmill only works for about 15 minutes before I get bored enough to bash through the window in front of me and run down the road screaming. The elliptical is even worse. Plus, it hurts my knees. I can only stay on that thing for 5 minutes at a time. But I find if I do one of those first, then weights, then one of those again, then more weights, I'm ok. I need constant stimulation and promise of reward, so that's a good way to go about it for me.
Can I just say? There is nothing quite like working out in front of mirrors to force you to confront how fat you've gotten? It's not so terrible, because it also allows you to see the shape underneath the fat, to see what you're working towards. But GOD DAMN. I'm the type of person who can look at my reflection in a window and only see the good things. I can walk down the street and strut, even at my heaviest, because... well, I don't know why. Because I look good at any weight, and I know it. Not all the time, but for the most part, I know it.
But working out, and being wimpy, and have ZERO endurance, and seeing the back fat in a tank top... you can't hide from those things when you're at the gym with mirrors surrounding you. It's probably a good thing. It's definitely motivation for me. This back fat WILL DIE. And this belly fat? Oh, it will suffer before it goes.
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