OMFG A PUBLIC POST! (it's a jock thing)
Thursday, 2 June 2005 23:26![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fatrockstarI look at my body every day now, hoping to see some kind of change. For the last two and a half weeks I've been religiously going to the gym after work for a minimum of 30 minutes of cardio. So far, I have yet to do less than 40 minutes, and those are usually broken up into two twenty-minute sessions on two different machines. Only this week I've started to incorporate some stretching.
I'm getting all cardio-heavy because I desperately need to shed this layer of fat I've been carrying around for so long. None of my friends would call me "fat" to my face, and I wouldn't consider myself "fat," but I definitely am far from streamlined. I've been lacking in inspiration for as long as I can remember. I don't work out with anyone. It's hard to find a good fit for a workout partner. I worked out with Paul for a while last fall, but we all know how successful that was. You'd think after 16 years of weight training I'd be leaner. Instead I'm merely robust. It's a shame. I'm pretty cute.
There are shortcuts I could take, but I don't really feel like wasting my money on something that could potentially give me a heart attack or part me from my hard-earned money. The most I'm doing now is trying to eat cleanly (cut back calories, avoid sweets), drink lots of water, and exercise twice as much as I used to. It's hard to ignore the adverts in the magazines. Monica Brant stares out from the pages with that peculiar smile of hers and X% bodyfat and I know she's healthy enough to take some pills when she needs something to make her workouts more effective. "Look at how perfect I am! Buy this product and you'll be perfect like me!" I know better, though. There is no magic pill. Not for me, anyway.
Garret is not as observant when it comes to these things. He'll say "sure hon, you look fine" in the same tone he'd tell me "it's raining outside," which makes me think he's not really paying attention. For him, I don't think he cares what I look like or how healthy I am. It would greatly help me out if he did, because at least then I would have eyes other than my own to track my progress. It doesn't help that he's so vehemently opposed to exercise that whenever the subject comes around to HIM getting involved it starts a huge argument. Today he tried to convince me he needed a television in the computer room (we already have three computers, a dvd player, a vcr, and three game consoles) to which I replied "but if you did that, the only exercise you'd get is getting up and going to the bathroom." Hilarity ensued.
So I'm hoping that all this work is making me look different somehow. I liked what I saw in the mirror in the gym today. I felt like I was in my element, like I had enough beef and shape to blend in with the crowd. The only thing I was missing was a five-year-old to pick up from the child care area.
I'm getting all cardio-heavy because I desperately need to shed this layer of fat I've been carrying around for so long. None of my friends would call me "fat" to my face, and I wouldn't consider myself "fat," but I definitely am far from streamlined. I've been lacking in inspiration for as long as I can remember. I don't work out with anyone. It's hard to find a good fit for a workout partner. I worked out with Paul for a while last fall, but we all know how successful that was. You'd think after 16 years of weight training I'd be leaner. Instead I'm merely robust. It's a shame. I'm pretty cute.
There are shortcuts I could take, but I don't really feel like wasting my money on something that could potentially give me a heart attack or part me from my hard-earned money. The most I'm doing now is trying to eat cleanly (cut back calories, avoid sweets), drink lots of water, and exercise twice as much as I used to. It's hard to ignore the adverts in the magazines. Monica Brant stares out from the pages with that peculiar smile of hers and X% bodyfat and I know she's healthy enough to take some pills when she needs something to make her workouts more effective. "Look at how perfect I am! Buy this product and you'll be perfect like me!" I know better, though. There is no magic pill. Not for me, anyway.
Garret is not as observant when it comes to these things. He'll say "sure hon, you look fine" in the same tone he'd tell me "it's raining outside," which makes me think he's not really paying attention. For him, I don't think he cares what I look like or how healthy I am. It would greatly help me out if he did, because at least then I would have eyes other than my own to track my progress. It doesn't help that he's so vehemently opposed to exercise that whenever the subject comes around to HIM getting involved it starts a huge argument. Today he tried to convince me he needed a television in the computer room (we already have three computers, a dvd player, a vcr, and three game consoles) to which I replied "but if you did that, the only exercise you'd get is getting up and going to the bathroom." Hilarity ensued.
So I'm hoping that all this work is making me look different somehow. I liked what I saw in the mirror in the gym today. I felt like I was in my element, like I had enough beef and shape to blend in with the crowd. The only thing I was missing was a five-year-old to pick up from the child care area.
