When You Can't Feel It

Lorraine Says: I just finished having the driest salad ever invented. I’m pretty sure it had two bite-sized pieces of chicken and three cranberries. It came with almost no non-fat-blah-blah-blah dressing. I could’ve sneezed on this salad and it would’ve been wetter. (I’m preemptively regretting saying wetter in a post.)

This, sadly, is what my life has come to. I’m trying. I’m trying a lot.

For the second week in a row, Roxanne and I took a Sunday night, joint grocery store trip, to make sure we had healthy food options for the week. We’re still consistently attending the gym, and on days we need a break, we walk around the track at the nearby community college, or around the small airport that’s just next to it.

Can we talk about the gym for second? We do a ton of cardio whenever we’re there, and no you sick bastards, Roxanne and I don’t cardio cardio. Occasionally, we’ll use some of the other workey-outey machines, but lately we’ve been interested in using the free weights.

Oh, Lord.

We’ve run into these problems so far:

1. We don’t exactly know what we’re doing.
2. We are easily embarrassed, which means that we’ll mostly try to run away from people. This leaves us using the aerobics room, when there aren’t any classes going on, which brings me to problem #3:
3. Who thought it’d be a good idea to fill the gym with mirrors? Wanna know what I don’t want to do? Work out in front of a mirror.
4. We suffer from the “I don’t feel it, this isn’t working” complex, where you don’t feel it so you think it isn’t working. I’m sure anyone who’s slept with Bret knows what I mean, but lets focus on actual work outs for a moment. We jump the gun and either end up abandoning the 5 pound weights for something only Superman should handle, or we just keep doing crazy shit with the weights so that the next day, we want to chop off our extremities.
5. When we’re sore, we don’t want to push ourselves at the next workout. We want to not move our arms.

We’ve taken to Googling articles and attempting to build some sort of smart work out plan that doesn’t consist of “move a lot” and “don’t bring chocolate to the gym.”

Speaking of chocolate, on Monday I realized that it’d been approximately 2 weeks since I had a chocolate bar. I thought of how awesome it would be to write about that in this here post. I thought about it a lot. I started to get twitch. No. Chocolate. Two. Weeks.

I’ll let you guys guess what happened next. It rhymes with Twitter Fort Mar. It’s okay though because I skipped dinner that day and instead had a double helping of guilt.

Not everything has changed, obviously, but like I said: I’m trying.

 

(Also, I’m not pregnant like Lily, so I win!)

Lily Says: Embarrassing yourself at the gym is priceless. I wish I could be there.

If your salad is dry, you should try getting Bret to cry in it. I'm sure the salty tears would add tons-o-flavor to the lettuce and what nots.

Lorraine Says: Apparently, my actual effort  have left the other blobs speechless. They don't even know what to say when someone isn't going on and on about failure. 

Maybe next week, blobs. Maybe next week. Or! Wait until tomorrow for Bret, who might even have another picture that'll break the internet. 

Dream a little dream.