post-workout high
Feb. 16th, 2008 04:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7I really really have come to really love the Saturday morning workouts at the gym with Mia. Not only is it a really thorough workout, that really gets my whole body completely wrung out but doesn't damage any part of me-- it's also tremendously entertaining. Mia's a real pro, and I enjoy her sense of humor and the unabashedly corny jokes liberally sprinkled through the choreography. But also, the other people in the class are entertaining-- teammates and leaguemates, most of us know the corny jokes by now, and are just entertaining. I'd never take a workout class, except that I know the other women in it are of a similarly non-athletic background and also, don't take any of it that seriously. I mean, yeah, they want to work as hard as possible, and they'll do it for sure, but they'll also laugh when it's funny.
I am feeling pretty good. Someone actually referred to me as a skinny bitch, which was unusual. I sort of needed that; I feel pretty good about things when I look in the mirror, nude or clothed, but only my 'fat pants' fit, and while I know I look much trimmer, I am actually larger all around than I was in the spring. And I actually stepped on a scale out of curiosity while cleaning the bathroom the other night, and while I know it was evening, I'd eaten and drunk recently, and I was wearing clothes, and that's an awfully imprecise scale I have, it said I was over 200 pounds, and it's never said that before. So despite my religiously tracking all my calories, I'm only getting heavier.
Well, whatever; if I look good that's all I really wanted anyway; more mass means I can hit harder. But I've never quite been over 200 pounds in my life, and that's kind of a big milestone for me to take in. My arms are more toned than ever, my legs are really cut, and even my ass is unusually firm, though my gut stubbornly refuses to ease up on the jiggliness.
And my boobs, my fucking boobs, Jesus-- I almost got strangled by them a couple of times during the workout routine. The weights part was hell-- lying on my back, doing chest presses, they were actually seriously intruding on my neck. Really, what the fuck, honestly. I love them, but they have to learn about boundaries one of these days.
Unfortunately I'm not feeling as mentally good as physically. I am much more absent-minded and unable to process routines than normal. I forgot my purse at a party Thursday night, and Z had to come with me today to pick it up from his office (it was a coworker's party, and the coworker brought it in this morning). Then, leaving the workout, I walked off in my gym shoes and left my outdoor shoes in the hallway. Meanwhile I have to go shopping this afternoon and get a present for Z's sister's baby shower; I am completely at a loss as to how I am going to figure out how to buy something from an online registry by going to a brick-and-mortar store. I mean, should I print out the whole list? Or, like, pick something, but what if I can't find it, maybe I'll just take the whole list there and just buy the first thing I can find... I just don't know how to process this. It seems way too hard. Anything involving more than about two steps...
It took me like 45 minutes to make breakfast because I couldn't stay on task. I had to wash a spatula, because it was dirty and I needed it. But I washed like five other things, by no system, and only then realized I'd forgotten about the spatula. Then I realized I had to find the recipe. Then I wiped down the counter, because it was dirty. Then I was like, oh yeah, I'll need to put the finished ones in the toaster oven to keep warm, so I turned on the toaster oven. And then I realized I hadn't even mixed up the batter yet. It took me like five minutes to decide what bowl to use to mix the batter in, and then I realized I'd chosen wrong, so I mixed it and then poured it into a pie plate because it would be easier to dip the French toast in that...
It was this ordeal, like I'd never fucking cooked a breakfast before.
I managed to set the table, make the coffee, pour juice, warm the plates on top of the toaster while the toast was staying warm-- it all went off just fine, and I did dishes as I went. But it was this overwhelming ordeal and I almost gave up on it.
I just can't stay on-task lately. And I can't remember details. And I can't break complicated tasks down into their component parts to do one at a time, it just seems beyond me.
It's very frustrating. I got over 12 hours of sleep last night so it's not like I'm sleep-deprived, I just seem not to be firing on all cylinders. Ever.
It's very annoying.
But I'm a 200-pound skinny bitch. Go figure. Maybe the inherent contradiction there has blown my mind and I just didn't realize.
I am feeling pretty good. Someone actually referred to me as a skinny bitch, which was unusual. I sort of needed that; I feel pretty good about things when I look in the mirror, nude or clothed, but only my 'fat pants' fit, and while I know I look much trimmer, I am actually larger all around than I was in the spring. And I actually stepped on a scale out of curiosity while cleaning the bathroom the other night, and while I know it was evening, I'd eaten and drunk recently, and I was wearing clothes, and that's an awfully imprecise scale I have, it said I was over 200 pounds, and it's never said that before. So despite my religiously tracking all my calories, I'm only getting heavier.
Well, whatever; if I look good that's all I really wanted anyway; more mass means I can hit harder. But I've never quite been over 200 pounds in my life, and that's kind of a big milestone for me to take in. My arms are more toned than ever, my legs are really cut, and even my ass is unusually firm, though my gut stubbornly refuses to ease up on the jiggliness.
And my boobs, my fucking boobs, Jesus-- I almost got strangled by them a couple of times during the workout routine. The weights part was hell-- lying on my back, doing chest presses, they were actually seriously intruding on my neck. Really, what the fuck, honestly. I love them, but they have to learn about boundaries one of these days.
Unfortunately I'm not feeling as mentally good as physically. I am much more absent-minded and unable to process routines than normal. I forgot my purse at a party Thursday night, and Z had to come with me today to pick it up from his office (it was a coworker's party, and the coworker brought it in this morning). Then, leaving the workout, I walked off in my gym shoes and left my outdoor shoes in the hallway. Meanwhile I have to go shopping this afternoon and get a present for Z's sister's baby shower; I am completely at a loss as to how I am going to figure out how to buy something from an online registry by going to a brick-and-mortar store. I mean, should I print out the whole list? Or, like, pick something, but what if I can't find it, maybe I'll just take the whole list there and just buy the first thing I can find... I just don't know how to process this. It seems way too hard. Anything involving more than about two steps...
It took me like 45 minutes to make breakfast because I couldn't stay on task. I had to wash a spatula, because it was dirty and I needed it. But I washed like five other things, by no system, and only then realized I'd forgotten about the spatula. Then I realized I had to find the recipe. Then I wiped down the counter, because it was dirty. Then I was like, oh yeah, I'll need to put the finished ones in the toaster oven to keep warm, so I turned on the toaster oven. And then I realized I hadn't even mixed up the batter yet. It took me like five minutes to decide what bowl to use to mix the batter in, and then I realized I'd chosen wrong, so I mixed it and then poured it into a pie plate because it would be easier to dip the French toast in that...
It was this ordeal, like I'd never fucking cooked a breakfast before.
I managed to set the table, make the coffee, pour juice, warm the plates on top of the toaster while the toast was staying warm-- it all went off just fine, and I did dishes as I went. But it was this overwhelming ordeal and I almost gave up on it.
I just can't stay on-task lately. And I can't remember details. And I can't break complicated tasks down into their component parts to do one at a time, it just seems beyond me.
It's very frustrating. I got over 12 hours of sleep last night so it's not like I'm sleep-deprived, I just seem not to be firing on all cylinders. Ever.
It's very annoying.
But I'm a 200-pound skinny bitch. Go figure. Maybe the inherent contradiction there has blown my mind and I just didn't realize.
