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PROGRESS

3 March 2015, 15:01

Oggie. Wet and oggie. And tired.

And I smell.

Today, our topic is PROGRESS and whether I’m making any. I am making tremendous strides in stinking, cussing, being tired, and general irritability levels. And for the first time, I think I’m making progress in the strength area.

Act as if ye have faith, and faith shall be given to you.

Faking it till you make it. THAT’S pretty much what I’ve been doing for the past five weeks. That stuff I said about feeling better and stronger? Big fat lies. Well. Not total lies, but optimistic exaggerations. And in my workout routine, big fat lies are essential. I am a goal oriented, progress driven person. If I don’t see some sort of progress, I go into FUCK IT mode. It doesn’t even have to be large strides in progress that will push me forward. But, shit. Yeah. Gotta lie. Since I’ve gotten the treadmill, which I think was about a year ago, I’ve worked out on it a total of five months. I took a little self-pity-my-life-sucks break for a good six months.

But. In those spurts of self improvement, I’ve lost about 23 pounds. Restarting the tready five weeks ago accounts for about 10 of those pounds.

But, the reason I think I made a real step forward is that in the last 70 minutes, I got on that hellish thing, and my legs did not hurt at all. They did not tire. They trudged straight and true. I stared at them as went along because Doug says I run like a frozen turkey that we saw in a TV commercial so that triggered my OCD, and now I’m hypervigilant about whether I’m looking like a retard when I motor about. That’s the kind of loving support I get. “Babe, you are beautiful just the way you are. You’re my little biscuit.” It’s damn lucky that I have an immunity to that sort of loving support, or I’d be putting dogfood in his chicken and rice.

Really. I need to finish this and shower. Even I am thinking, that’s not musky, its SKUNKY.

Okay. So, the loving support and nurturing encouragement is not exactly great, but, fuck, motivation has to come from within. And my within has been FIBBING to me for five weeks. Today, was the first time the legs said, “HELL, lets go another hour….”

Fake it.

I do believe that it’s all psychological. Here’s an example: I have NO pain in the legs, no joint owie, really no thoughts of “Hey! Let’s sit the fuck down.” I, easily, did the hour of tready I require of myself. THEN, I looked down at the timer. It said 60 minutes, 15 seconds, and all of a sudden, I got a twingy in my thigh and my feet started saying, “boy, we’d like to quit now.” That last ten minutes were the hardest of the hold deal.

You people working out, I’ll bet you a Mac Pro and a wireless color printer that the HARDEST part of working out is the 20 minutes before actually starting. That 20 minutes, I find myself stalling, and being a big fat baby about stepping onto the belt and firing up the machine. My brain is arguing with the other part of my brain “NO, you can’t make me” and “just quit. no one will know. go have a cookie.” Once I get going, then it’s all dandy-candy.

Specifics.

Had someone ask, “People usually say you need to workout, and just motivate yourself, but they don’t really tell you how.” Here’s how I do it. I have low self esteem, first of all, and quitting before I’m done sets in motion a bunch of bitching and moaning from my brain about how much of a schlub and failure I am. Who the hell do I think I am, that I think I’m so special that I’m the only one in the world who CAN’T do this? And then it goes into horrid, insulting tirades about biscuit dough and puffy cheeks.

I have three things I never do. I NEVER LOOK AT MY SPECIFIC PROGRESS. This makes it too easy to convince myself 57 minutes is the same length of time as 60 minutes, so its cookie time. I have a playlist of music that is made up of songs four minutes long and above. I don’t know the exact lengths, so I can’t really pinpoint when I should quit, so I guesstimate I need to try to make it through five songs and then I can rest. I am constantly trying to trick myself into doing more than I think I am.

I also NEVER ever deprive myself of crappy food (at this stage). I like crappy food. I just don’t have to have a ton of it, and sometimes a salad is good instead of a mile high thickburger from Hardee’s. NEVER DEPRIVE YOURSELF OF HAPPY. It’s sucky enough that you have to do this exercise thing that makes you crabby and stinky, but then you can’t have something that makes it all worth it. Keep in mind, that the more crap you have, you are undoing a lot of the crap you’re going through – and I hate doing exercise that doesn’t count for shit because I had a LARGE Dairy Queen Blizzard instead of a small one. Doing all that shitty exercise actually makes it possible to eat shitty food once in a while. YES. RATIONALIZATION IS A KEY PART OF A GOOD WORKOUT ROUTINE.

I just remember not to just stuff my pie hole until I feel bloated.

I NEVER EVER LOOK IN THE MIRROR (at this point) OR WEIGH MYSELF MORE THAN ONCE OR TWICE A WEEK. In the beginning, you won’t see the good that’s going on cause it’s not visible yet. It took you years to LOOK like that. And WAY before you looked like Jabba the Hut on the outside, you did tremendous alterations on the inside. So, basically, the improvements go from the inside out – with your outsides changing last because they are the last thing you did to yourself.

It’s only now, I’m am seeing physical changes, and they are not cosmetic yet, they are internal. I’m seeing a significant change in stamina and strength. And don’t kid yourself, it took a lot of lying and self deception to trick myself into getting to this point.

And complaining. I do a lot of complaining. This seems to help a lot. I love complaining. BONUS TIP: DON’T DEPRIVE YOURSELF OF BELLYACHING AND BEING A PAIN IN THE ASS.

Although, a caveat on that last one. It’s best to limit being a pain in the ass as so not to drive your loved ones to move out. Or you could be a pain in the ass as much as you want, just spew it in a blog.