Friday, May. 02, 2003
Dear Diary:

You know you have The Most Insanely Cool Workout T-Shirt On The Planet when your trainer tells you she absolutely positively has to have one, too.

Behold, the power of Mangus:

I love the way this guy is looking at his muscles.

Some of my three loyal readers will recall that Mangus used this picture as part of a design for a wangitude t-shirt to commemorate the spousal unit's 50th birthday. I decided on a more 50's type design (since the spousal unit is a product of the 1950's) but I just couldn't get Mr. Biceps out of my head.

I just love this guy's expression. He sums up perfectly how I feel about my own muscles. I had to have him.

I have my needs.

Shameless hussy that I am, I begged Mangus to change his original design, to turn "Wangitude" into "Mmmmuscles". Even though he was in the middle of stressful and tiring jury duty for a murder trial, (and let's not forget the ceaseless demands of his man harem) that big-hearted lug did just that and voil�, The Most Insanely Cool Workout T-Shirt On The Planet.

The shirt has powers, I tell you, powers. On Wednesday when I first squatted 135 pounds nobody but nobody in my gym noticed me doing that. But today, whilst wearing The Most Insanely Cool Workout T-Shirt On The Planet I had not one, not two but three different people wander over to comment admiringly about how much metal I was lifting.

OH OH OH OH and you want to know the most gratifying part? The hated words "for a girl" were not added to the end of the sentence. No, it was just, "Hey, that's quite a lift."

A more mature person would have just nodded coolly, acknowledged the pat on the back and moved on. Me, I am now officially insufferable. I think the verb best used to describe me through the rest of my workout would be "strut".

Fortunately, the newish trainer Tracey quickly put me back in my place. She's decided to co-erce me to help me work on my flexibility through adding a stretch routine to be done after my weight lifting.

Remember it's NOT YOGA. I have been teasing my friends for years about doing yoga. I believe the words "hippy freaks" may have been bandied about from time to time. So I'd like to make it absolutely clear that no, this is NOT YOGA, it's STRETCHING.

There's a Big, Big Difference.

Oh be quiet.

So at the end of My Triumphal March Through The Weight Room I sauntered confidently into the stretching room and about oh, say, 33 seconds into the stretching routine I came to realize I have all the supple flexibility of your average yardstick.

Tracey would say something such as, "Lock your fingers behind your back and lift up your arms slowly as far as you can" and I would interlace my fingers only to find I could lift my arms, oh, say, centimeters whereas she was getting them well up behind her back.

Fine.

At the end of twenty minutes of bending this way and stretching that way, she had reduced me to a whimpering noodle of a woman.

Want to know the weirdest part? I have never, ever ended my workout feeling so tranquil, relaxed or at peace. It was wonderful. Tracey's offered to just come and stretch with me at the end of my weight workouts so I can learn the stretching routine properly. I am most definitely taking her up on this, because I love the feeling I get afterwards.

But remember, it's NOT YOGA, which we all know is for hippy freaks, it's STRETCHING.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 236.98 miles (381.3 kilometers) Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

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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.