GAWD - I thought I never say without at least some hint of sarcasm, but really, I truly feel like my body has an unfortunate consistency not un-like Jell-O. Keep in mind, I am not some kind of twinky-hard-bodied-gym-rat; never have been, and probably never will be (I'm totally fine with this).
Having said that, the last time I went to the gym was about 3 weeks ago. That's the longest stretch I've gone in over 2 years. Since the getting-hit-by-a-car thing my body feels sore in a new, random place every day, and instead of risking further injury by lifting weights or utilizing an elliptical machine, I've been parking my fat-ass on the couch to "rest" (i.e. watch Cubs games and drinking beer).
Well, no more. The turning point occurred just this morning while driving to work. When I drove over a set of railroad track I could actually feel my stomach jiggle. Late in the day I was bounding down a flight of stairs and I felt my ass also jiggle. My arms looks smaller than they normally do - what the fuck happened to my triceps?
No matter how hungover I may be tomorrow, I am forcing my bloated excuse for a body to the gym, come hell or high water. I desperately crave that release of sweet, sweet endorphins. To be sore on purpose, and not because of some asshole's lack of driving acumen seems so rewarding - I can almost taste the sweat beading on my forehead.
This has nothing to do with the rest of this post...but there no excuse is needed to enjoy some Bill Withers.
Having said that, the last time I went to the gym was about 3 weeks ago. That's the longest stretch I've gone in over 2 years. Since the getting-hit-by-a-car thing my body feels sore in a new, random place every day, and instead of risking further injury by lifting weights or utilizing an elliptical machine, I've been parking my fat-ass on the couch to "rest" (i.e. watch Cubs games and drinking beer).
Well, no more. The turning point occurred just this morning while driving to work. When I drove over a set of railroad track I could actually feel my stomach jiggle. Late in the day I was bounding down a flight of stairs and I felt my ass also jiggle. My arms looks smaller than they normally do - what the fuck happened to my triceps?
No matter how hungover I may be tomorrow, I am forcing my bloated excuse for a body to the gym, come hell or high water. I desperately crave that release of sweet, sweet endorphins. To be sore on purpose, and not because of some asshole's lack of driving acumen seems so rewarding - I can almost taste the sweat beading on my forehead.
This has nothing to do with the rest of this post...but there no excuse is needed to enjoy some Bill Withers.
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