Friday, Oct. 15, 2004
Dear Diary:

Zombie aerobics instructor it is.

Thank you, Amanda for the suggestion. It was a tough decision to make because my three loyal readers left some pretty nifty ideas. I decided to go with the undead because, in the end, who doesn't love the zombies?

My thoughts, exactly.

Okay, so here's my thoughts for the Hallowe'en costume from which I hope to score a free month's membership at my gym:

Tease hair into bird's nest disarray. Put bits of leaves and twigs in hair as if I've just arisen from a shallow grave in the woods. If I can score some gummi worms, then I will add gummi worms to the mix because, really, nothing quite says undead like a hairdo that sports a few strategically placed gummi worms.

I'll pick up a new black tee shirt and iron a transfer on it. Here's the best I can do, because I do not have the mad graphic skillz:

(The tiny text in the middle reads "A wholly owned subsidiary of MarnCo")

I already have a dark workout leotard. I figure I'll go through the border without make-up and when I hit the gym parking lot I can smear on a little gray or black lipstick, some strategically placed gray eyeshadow under the eyes, and I'm good to go.

I'll let you know what happens.

Today was my reckoning day at the gym, the day when I get weighed, pinched, and tested. This happens four times a year so my trainer and I can see where I'm making progress and where things need tweaking.

Poundage stayed stable from three months ago, but callipers say body fat has dropped another 2%, down to 19%, which is good. I'm still exchanging fat for muscle. Overall cardio fitness is excellent. Strength tests show good gains.

I will now take a moment to bask in those three wonderful statistics. There. That felt good. Now, for the bad news. The flexibility test. Let me put it to you this way: no one is ever going to confuse me with a Bendo figurine.

Flexibility matters. A supple body makes every day living easier. A supple body resists injury. So my trainer's to shift my strength training away from heavier weights into somewhat lighter weights, using many more repetitions. I'll insert more stretching between each exercise. If I can't get my palms flat on the floor when I bend over three months from now, I will be seriously, seriously ticked off.

When my weighing, pinching and testing was done, my trainer asked me to do a favour. One of the other trainers at the gym started offering a butt blaster workout on Friday mornings, but only two people showed up when it started last week. He was feeling kind of down about the lack of response. She asked me to go.

Waving grandly, I said of course I would. I have been working religiously on matters buttal, trying to reverse decades of pancake rump. In light of that effort, I figured that this workout of his would be a piece of cake.

I am a fool, a fool I tell you.

This man knows 4,522 variations on the lunge, and he threw them all at the three of us trapped in the exercise room. Purple happy fun balls of pain, humiliation and torture were also employed. There are no words for the horror.

Fifteen minutes into the workout things began to hurt. Anyone who works out will tell you that if a fully warmed up body is starting to feel twinges only fifteen minutes into a workout, serious, serious aching is going to occur afterwards.

How serious is the aching? It hurts so much to sit that I am standing up, my keyboard propped on top of my CPU, to write this.

I have signed up for the rest of the course. What began as an act of sympathy has now turned into a challenge.

I will not let the purple happy fun ball of pain, humiliation and torture win.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 742.53 miles. Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. 25 per cent thereTen percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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