Friday, March 19, 2010


Last night I spent 30 minutes with the man at the gym. I bribed him with food. I think I am getting the winning end of the deal, but his stomach may beg to differ. Food for training. I bring the man food. He trains me. Deal. Last night we ended up doing legs. Leg press, one legged squats, step-ups and a heavy weighted lunge/row circuit. Then I did cardio for 40 minutes.

I'm sore. My glutes and quads are speaking to me. They are telling me things like, 'hey, thanks for remembering us' and 'thanks for doing a heavy weight lunge and row circuit, we needed it.' I'll admit that I actually like being sore. Not the painful sore you get from overuse, but the sore when you know you've done just the right number of lunge/squat/step-ups/whatever to start building the muscles. I like muscles. I like working towards getting them. I like the idea that muscles are evidence. That's one of my favorite quotes. "Muscles are evidence." It's on my bedroom wall at home above my dresser. I look at that quote all the time. It's true. Muscles represent hard work and time and sacrifice. What's not to love about muscles? Don't get me wrong, I realize that as with anything too much of a good thing is not necessarily better. I don't want to be a body builder, but I do want the fitness. I want my muscles to be strong, to push me towards my goals, to be efficient, to be toned and lean and burning calories the way that bodies are made to. I like muscles.

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