December 13, 2004
The Universe Wants Me To Remain a Size 12
Not that there's anything wrong with being a 12, mind you. I'm can still work it. Oh HO, yesh. But I'd like my clothes to fit a little better, and... well, we all know the reasons for weight loss, so let's move on.
Suffice to say, Homer Simpson has a better resting heart rate than I do. So I got my ass to the gym pretty regularly for a couple weeks there. It was my longest commitment to any sort of actual workout routine EVER.
True, my treadmill speed was conspicuously lower than the huge-assed old people with me, but "At least I'm doing something," I told myself.
And I gained 2 lbs. Yes, folks, my body defies all known laws of physics and, after burning more calories, actually gains weight. It's so fucking unfair!!!
And in breaking news, my ass hurts. Or more specifically, my sciatic nerve. Apparently, when one's only hobbies are blogging, eating and napping, 20 min. of actual movement per day is a goddamn big deal!
Needless to say, the constant, stabbing pain whenever I'm on my feet has taken a bit of a toll on my workout. The stabbing pain used to be in my chest, which I had grown quite accustomed to. The migration to my ass has thrown me.
So DH, the brother-in-law of the love and support, said I should try some of the upper body machines. Meanwhile, people in the movie audience are shouting at the screen, "Don't go with him! Are you insane?! He's totally psycho!"
(Yes, my life has hecklers. It also has a soundtrack. And it was panned by the critics for its gratuitous sex and lack of character development.)
So I go and try out the machine for the triceps. And the one for the biceps. And the one for the pecs. I had the settings on the lowest amount of weight possible. I'm no dummy. I know better than to strain myself. But I forgot that I think BBQ ribs and pistachios are a strain (in the amount-of-work-done-to-amount-of-food-gotten ratio), so yeah, I couldn't lift my arms for the rest of the day.
But that wasn't the weirdest part. The weirdest part was when my hands started shaking. Which, I guess, is Mother Nature's way of saying, "Ah, glad to see you've found those muscles after 35 years."
Mother Nature is a total fucking bitch. She's not a smiling, benevolent, apple-cheeked goddess in flowing robes with flowers in her hair. She's a mean, petty, vindictive bitch. And I have the tremors to prove it.
So, as it stands, I have still worked out more in December that the previous 11 months combined, but I haven't lost an ounce, and I'm temporarily grounded. And to make myself feel better, I took an extra trip to the frozen yogurt bar at Sweet Tomatoes during lunch today. I really need to switch to shopping for my superficial emotional boosts.
I. Hate. This.