The Gym Chronicles 2
Before I enrolled in a gym and started working out, which was more than a year ago, I've always had this idea of the kind of body I'd like to achieve. Broad shoulders that slim down to sexy pelvic cuts. That has always been my kind of sexy, something that resembles the letter V. On the other hand, Johnny Bravo much?
I was intent on having that so initially my routine for the nine months I had regularly gone to the gym was to follow the cutie. Kidding. Most of the workouts I had done were targeted for my shoulders and cuts on my back. Now I realize I have disproportionately small arms, like a snowman with twigs for arms. I've never really focused on triceps and biceps exercises, doing them only if I had time to spare before exhaustion drove me to narcolepsy or hot legs distract me.
There was a long interval between the last time I had gone to the gym and when I started again after moving from one country to another. I didn't know what to do and, sometimes, I still don't know what to do. I've been so used to doing shoulder exercises that I don't know what else to do. I realized that I should start going down, not with anyone, but with the specific areas to focus on.
In the last two weeks, I started a routine of chasing the studs that litter the locker room from the gym to their apartments then off to Las Vegas chapels. First, I would take a swim for twenty to thirty minutes. Not the leisurely kind of lying in the pool, but swimming from one short end to the other. Then depending on how strained my legs are, I'd either do cycling or treadmill for twenty minutes with brief interludes of sprinting or very fast cycling. Then I would do obliques until I get so twisted I'm facing backwards.
Last Monday, while my parents were busy choosing clothes for themselves, I decided to buy some things for myself, too. I was paying anyway so I might as well include myself in the splurge. I checked out the jeans section since I rarely buy a pair of jeans. I tried on a pair but saw that they were big. I looked at the size and it was a size 31. I tried a size 30 and it was still big. The shopper who was with me helped me look for a size 29, which she said was their last size. I asked for three specific cuts-- a low boot cut, slim straight cut, and super skinny. The last one was merely to amuse myself. I was relieved, happy, and surprised that they did fit. Maybe a few more inches off the waist and that V-shaped body will be within reach. I wonder if it's possible to actually reduce a waistline to the size of a dot, where the upper body ends with a period.
Wishful thinking, yeah. And I still don't like the shape I'm in. All those years of drinking pure water has made it impossibly hard to remove love handles. Why do we even call them love handles when I hate them so? There are still some excesses to trim, especially in those areas. They're more difficult to lose, but so easy to gain; I should have thought of having them excised when I was in the Philippines. After all, what the ads say were and will always be true: only Piolo touches my skin. It certainly has the element of truth in it.
I was intent on having that so initially my routine for the nine months I had regularly gone to the gym was to follow the cutie. Kidding. Most of the workouts I had done were targeted for my shoulders and cuts on my back. Now I realize I have disproportionately small arms, like a snowman with twigs for arms. I've never really focused on triceps and biceps exercises, doing them only if I had time to spare before exhaustion drove me to narcolepsy or hot legs distract me.
There was a long interval between the last time I had gone to the gym and when I started again after moving from one country to another. I didn't know what to do and, sometimes, I still don't know what to do. I've been so used to doing shoulder exercises that I don't know what else to do. I realized that I should start going down, not with anyone, but with the specific areas to focus on.
In the last two weeks, I started a routine of chasing the studs that litter the locker room from the gym to their apartments then off to Las Vegas chapels. First, I would take a swim for twenty to thirty minutes. Not the leisurely kind of lying in the pool, but swimming from one short end to the other. Then depending on how strained my legs are, I'd either do cycling or treadmill for twenty minutes with brief interludes of sprinting or very fast cycling. Then I would do obliques until I get so twisted I'm facing backwards.
Last Monday, while my parents were busy choosing clothes for themselves, I decided to buy some things for myself, too. I was paying anyway so I might as well include myself in the splurge. I checked out the jeans section since I rarely buy a pair of jeans. I tried on a pair but saw that they were big. I looked at the size and it was a size 31. I tried a size 30 and it was still big. The shopper who was with me helped me look for a size 29, which she said was their last size. I asked for three specific cuts-- a low boot cut, slim straight cut, and super skinny. The last one was merely to amuse myself. I was relieved, happy, and surprised that they did fit. Maybe a few more inches off the waist and that V-shaped body will be within reach. I wonder if it's possible to actually reduce a waistline to the size of a dot, where the upper body ends with a period.
Wishful thinking, yeah. And I still don't like the shape I'm in. All those years of drinking pure water has made it impossibly hard to remove love handles. Why do we even call them love handles when I hate them so? There are still some excesses to trim, especially in those areas. They're more difficult to lose, but so easy to gain; I should have thought of having them excised when I was in the Philippines. After all, what the ads say were and will always be true: only Piolo touches my skin. It certainly has the element of truth in it.
Why don't you try wearing a corset? Hahaha!
ReplyDeleteI always wear a corset. You don't?
ReplyDeleteWaaaaah!!! Hahahahahahahahaha!!! Sabi na eh!!!
ReplyDelete