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9:04 p.m. - 2010-01-18
But Butt Butt

I'm starting this before going to the gym and will likely finish it when I return. Unless I am so lamed up that even typing with a long stick clamped in my teeth is out, then I shall have to wait until my hands and arms can function again. I'm not provoking serious disability, but since I got out of my first workout with nothing except mild muscle tightness and a feeling of being aware of my bod in various locations that usually don't have much to say I'm figuring that this next workout is the one that'll kill me.

The one thing I am refusing to do is go bonkers and try to screw myself up, as if proving that I've worked hard enough because I'm openly weeping and incapable of independent motion it hurts so bad. I've mostly kept the vow I made to myself after splitting up with the ex- I will NOT volunteer for pain ever again, and this includes the physical kind.

Unfortunately my sleeping mind refuses to cooperate and my night world is as bad as ever. Worse than in quite some time actually and for the last week or so I've spent my nights being scorned, abandoned, chopped to bits, spat on, yelled at, and desperately anxious to explain myself so the shit would stop. Oh well, nothing new, but annoying as hell, you know?


And here I am! Back from the gym, well worked but not insanely so. Since my main goal is basically to get toned I'm sticking with weight training and stretching. The fat will go away on its own, and if it doesn'toh well. Nothing would put me off the gym faster than feeling obligated to trudge my way to nowhere on a treadmill (or biking to nowhere or faux cross-country skiing to nowhere). I like weight training. It's far easier to stick with something good for you if you enjoy doing it, right?

To that end I've stocked up on food that I like which isn't necessarily 'diet' food, but certainly has more nutrition value than the chips and cookies that make up most of my intake. So today's lunch was a big mug of vegetarian vegetable soup and a glass of milk.

Yes, things are going even more boring and self-involved than usual around here for the next few weeks as I desperately try not to become a gym drop-out. Something I figured out during the year of silence was that being good to myself wasn't always about treats. Being good to myself is sometimes about doing things that are good for me. Things which expand my world or whittle my thighs, challenge my brain or help me firm up my character. Like until that cold knocked me on my ass I'd been following through with getting up, washed and dressed every morning. No biggie to you employed outside the house types, but rather a deal for someone whose job can be done in her pajamas. I like the way I feel about myself if I'm dressed in real clothes and wearing make-up. Even if no one sees me but me. Self-respect, maybe?


And now it's later still. No excessive soreness, mostly that 'aware' feeling and some grousing from my quads, they having taken the most abuse today as I aim for my other goal of hauling my butt back up where it used to be instead of letting it continue slowly migrating down the backs of my thighs. Granted, proportionally it's not a big butt. Even now in its 'heading for Florida with the rest of the elderly old fucks' stage. Years past I never gave much thought to my tush, the ridiculous hooters up front had everyone's attention, even mine. Also having haunches like a Clydesdale and legs as long as a giraffe meant all of my jeans fitting problems were about finding a pair with at least a 36" inseam and then room enough for the burly speed skater thighs, what was going on with my rump was moot. I realize this is a near lynching offense to the callipygian types out there for whom fitting jeans is all about getting them over your generously sized buttocks. Sorry.

Anyhoodle, since there are no exercises that can fix jowls or boobs like windsocks, the one aging droop I can do something about is my heinie. Catch it before it too is just another loose-skinned victim of gravity. What profit a woman to have a great tushie if she still has flying squirrel flappy arms and forehead ridges deep enough to cultivate radishes in? No answer for that except to say sometimes a chick has to do something to stave off despair. And rescuing my bottom from my benign neglect and sedentary lifestyle is it for me.

That's it for this horribly boring entry too.

Good night, kids. ~LA

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