Wear Clean Draws  (because there’s 5 million ways to kill a ceo)

i would like to know something. i walk to and from work most everyday, logging 2.5 miles. even on days when i’m lazy or late and have to take the electric bus, it’s .5 mile. still, on average, it’s probably 1.5 miles. Then, I walk another .8 miles, twice a week, to go to the gym to lift — full body routine, twice a week. Granted, I haven’t been for the past week because of all the dunging out lately. But still, I dare you to punch my thigh muscles. Steel baby, steel. (Of course, don’t bother with the poochy blobs of fat at the top of my thighs, which an old lover once called turkey drumsticks, since the layers of blob there completely obliterate anyone’s ability to feel a tensed muscle in that region.)

so why the HELL is it that I am a hurting puppy from walking up and down stairs, stooping and lifting, etc. It’s not like my lifting routine doesn’t include plenty of time on the ab crunch, that one where you push the weights and crunch, and the back extension machines. you know? Granted, it should be more time spent at those machines but lately i’ve been going nights. as a consequence, getting time on the ab machines is a joke. too many people.

I need to stop being so lazy and get up early so I can get back to that place where I made sonshine jealous. :) Back when I was doing Tae Bo — kickboxing — and lifting, my son used to be jealous of how hard my upper abs were.

Of course, skip the lower abs since the pooch there also obscures. well, actually, since the muscles in the gut are striated — that is layered between layers of fat — i could work up something, it’s just that you’re not going to see a six pack in that region any time soon either — if ever! Being old is soooo cool! :)

actually, it is cool in the sense that I can go to the gym, sweat my ass off (I wish!) and not give a teensy weensy turd about what people actually think of the old broad. I don’t even notice people there. So much so that I went to another division in the company the other day, to quiz them about what software they used, and it turned out that the director of the department goes to the same gym, had seen me there, and said, “Wow. you work out too. I saw you and tried to get your attention but you were absorbed.”

Anyway, I would dearly love to know how it is that R’s explanation — I’m using different muscles — makes sense when, the dealio is, I am using all kinds of muscles on the machines. WTF?

Maybe it’s just age. Maybe my body can’t take 8-10 continuous hours of all this crap.

Well, enough of that: it’s time to get back to work — and on my vacation yet!