It's been wild here - I've been busy but also taking care of myself more.
I have been on this forever weight battle. I know, if you actually know me, I'm small. But, the effort to stay even 10 lbs. OVER my normal weight is tremendous. How is this possible? Yes, it could be age, but that metabolism doesn't shut off one day like a burned out light.
So, I eat smarter. I work out a LOT more. And still, I fight.
I've been waking up somewhere between 4:30 and 5am. The gym opens at 5, which means I have my pick of equipment. If I want 6 pair of dumbbells and 3 barbells, they're mine. I don't have to wait! And, nobody is too stinky (so far). And, I am at my best with weight training first thing. And, when I get home and shower, my warmup on my instrument is much, much, much better.
So, that's my schtick. And, some evenings, I go back with a book and sit on a bike for an hour.
My trend has been to burn as many calories or more as I consume.
Yet, I gain. Or maintain. But this is no maintenance regimen. This is a badass shredded body builder one.
But, I'm happy to be alive and to be feeling better than I have been for a couple of years. Holy crap. A couple of years? I've been feeling like crap for that long? That definitely is not cool.
Now, if I can convince the docs that I should be on 'roids, I'm pretty sure my life would be complete.
I could win coveted titles, like first place in the Ms. Cancerriffic Muscle Mama! Yeah. I made that up, but it should be a thing. I would wear my sash proudly, as I lumber through the world with my humungous quads, too big to fit into anything but those ginormous workout pants from the 80s.
Don't laugh like you didn't own a pair!
Ok, so maybe it's a bad idea. But I'd be willing to go through a cycle or two and see just how huge I could get. I mean, I'm positive my husband would be willing to pop the steroid zits on my back and deal with the rage (which he's been through with the tamoxifen!). The lady parts? Well, at least my fake breast won't shrink. We'll have to sort out the other one. And downstairs? Guess I'll have to get used to boxer briefs. A guy needs some support, ya know.
I just talked myself out of it. Darn.
