Sunday, Mar. 03, 2002
Dear Diary:

We want to pump you up eh.Wanna feel my muscle?

Huh?

HUH?

So this is it, the one year anniversary of Marn's Big Adventure in the Land of Heavy Metal.

Yes, my three loyal readers, it's now been a year since I walked through the doors of my gym and paid them mass quantities of money to expose me to pain, humiliation and downright torture.

Is it just me, or does that also strike you as a rather odd thing to do, to pay someone to make you uncomfortable? Hrm �

Anyhow, I coralled my new trainer, Dave, into doing Hans and Franz with me to mark this auspicious occasion and as you can see, he was simply DELIGHTED to be sucked into the vortex of my silliness.

Or maybe not, eh.

(It took many tries to get a picture anywhere near focus because everyone in the gym was laughing so hard and no one could hold the camera still. The time involved was wearing down his patience so I finally pulled the plug after this picture because You Really Don't Want To Tick Off The Guy Who Decides How Many Ab Crunches You Should Do.)

We want to pump you up The Prequel.Yep, there has been some progress (as you can see from this picture taken six months ago with my former trainer, Will) but there is still quite a ways to go.

I've dropped my blood pressure from the high end of normal down to the low end of normal. My resting heart beat is between 50 and 52 beats a minute (it used to be 72) which means I have good cardiovascular fitness now. My doctor wishes he had my cholesterol levels.

You think that preceding paragraph was boring? Oh man, just wait until this next one, eh.

I have added 11 pounds of much cherished muscle. But there is still too much .:cough:. fluffiness .:cough:. to me, about 15 pounds too much according to the fitness tables for a woman my age and height. And that 15 pounds just does NOT want to leave the building.

Part of the problem here is that I am older than dirt and after far too many years of slackitude, my body remains firmly convinced that my attempts to make it strong, fit and lean are a temporary aberration. Many, many years of very poor eating habits means I have pushed my system towards insulin resistance and so I don't process carbohydrates as well as you zygotes do.

"If I just wait her out," my body thinks, "before I know it, I'll be back on the couch watching The Gilmore Girls and stuffing my face with Cheetos."

The nerve of some people's carcasses, eh.

Fine. We'll just see about that. Let's just see where we are a year from now Ms. Smarty Pants Body Who Won't Be Getting Any Cheetos.

I can wait you out too.

You know, I expected that a year of three times a week exercising would change my body, but what has surprised me was how it changed my spirit and that's a bit harder for me to explain. All I can say is that I am happier. Much happier.

That mood bonus has been one of the things that has kept me going when I did NOT want to crawl out of a warm bed, walk a quarter mile down the hill, shovel snow so I could get my car out of the garage, and drive 20 minutes in a cold car to the gym.

Oh yeah, getting there in the winter has been a box o' fun, let me tell you.

With the spousal unit out of work for the last few months, I can't afford to renew my gym membership right now, and so Friday will be my last day. But fear not. I could see that coming and I've had Dave shift my workout into free weights and exercises I can do at home. I plan to keep up that program up until next fall and then rejoin the gym.

That's the plan.

Can I do this? Do I have the discipline to eat properly and to go through the tedium of working out at home without the support I get from a trainer and the friends I've made at my gym?

That, my three loyal readers, is the 15 pound question.

Get thee behind me, Cheetos.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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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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�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.