But after three months and hours and hours sweating it out I "thought" that I had reached the top of the mountain and was cruising on my way down. As it turns out, that fairytale started to unravel yesterday and came crashing through my roof tonight.
When I started three months ago I took a computerized body analysis test to see how bad I really was. My upper body strength was awesome, it was off the charts actually. Everything else sucked. "See this red bar? That's where you are at. To get waaaaaaaaaay over here to the 'fat bastard' zone we would have to saw you in half and you'd still be huge. Huge we can work with, but you my friend, you should hitch a ride on the space shuttle and become another moon to Saturn..." The news was actually sobering but not surprising. At the very least I knew where I had to start.
So as I'm doing jump rope, AND stair steps AND medicine ball crap I look in the mirror and see this blob of a person in slow motion. My man tits are practically hitting me in the face, my gut is bouncing so hard I'm wondering if it is going to break off and just fall through the floor and even though I "feel" like I am doing high kicks like the Rocketts, my feet are hardly leaving the floor! I was panting like a dog in labor, my tongue flopping on the floor and my face is so red I had a headache. My instructor was awesome "You did great man! Keep coming back!" I wanted to punch him in the face, not only for the torture he put me through but for the fact that he was realities messenger and I did not like what I was reading. I am at an all time low tonight.
So I'm re-thinking WHY exactly am I doing this? Yeah yeah yeah, there's the living longer, and healthier and all of that junk. But I could live with all of that the way I was and be perfectly happy. I finally decided that the only reason I am doing this is so that I can look fabulous in a banana hammock some day. I've always wanted to get one, like this dude on the left but I've never felt comfortable in my own skin to actually strut around in one of these. It's my goal, MY DREAM to wear one of these on the beaches of France as my way of sticking it to the French. The idea of a Frenchman angry with me brings joy to my soul. So I have decided to push on, endure the pain and try try try to become a better me. I love you banana hammock. Just fifteen more years of this who-ha and you're MINE! GREAT SUCCESS!