scrambled think-eggs

I'm almost satisfied with my appearance. Almost. I still have gross shitty crooked teeth and a flopping gut, stretch marks and shit that jiggles some places, but I can almost overlook those. I was trying on boots at Uniqlo Shoes yesterday and I couldn't get most of the zippers halfway over my calves, but instead of getting discouraged I just felt like a major badass because my legs are so muscular. Seriously, if I flex and slap my thighs, nothing jiggles. There is space between them. It is a victorious state to be in.

I talk about weight loss and running and blah blah food food food exercise a lot, but it's only so I can catch up. I feel like people who have always been thin and in shape simply don't have to worry about it. For those of us late to the party aka former fat people, it's truly a gigantic lifestyle change that warrants laughter, tears, and a shifting identity. Some days you get bitter, tantrum-like notions of nostalgia and overromanticization of a less healthy past. It's just like culture shock and fatigue when you extend your stay in a given new locale beyond a month or two weeks' vacation honeymoon. Just like I am sometimes convinced I actually miss pasty, obese, ignorant retards aka the cream of the American crop, some days I feel like the world is a dog and I am a chew toy, and why the FUCK don't I get to eat plates of rice with lunch like my 45 kg colleagues?

This morning I weighed myself and I was heavier than yesterday despite eating less yesterday than I did the day before. But I'm going to quit using scales as the tell-all. A scale is after all just a measuring device that does not take into account that the miso soup was oversalted at Yayoiken. A scale can't tell that I'm getting JACKED (okay, not actually) because I want my shoulders and back to look awesome in my backless, mostly frontless New Year's Eve dress. The scale also does not take into account that I've come a fairly long way, beating nicotine addiction and a very strong conviction that I will never be able to run for longer than five minutes.

I know what I'm doing works and that if I keep it up, I'll be healthy, progressively able to lift heavier things, and my endurance and heart will be optimally functional. Maybe I'll even live to be old and hot. I hope when I'm fifty I can have an affair with a hot nineteen-year-old. Now that's a goal worth working towards.

Cool!

Today was an incredibly clear day, not a drop of humidity in the air. Made for perfect visibility (as pictured) and beautifully vivid cloud formations that I forgot to photograph. This picture was snapped from my phone as I walked home.

I set a new running record for myself. Perhaps I was fueled by my unsightly peanut butter feeding frenzy when I got home from work, but whatever the cause I was able to maintain a pretty good pace for over an hour without slowing down or walking. That probably means I should be pushing harder, but damn! Only a few months ago I thought it was a physical impossibility to run for longer than five minutes at a time.

Running

I have been vocally anti-running ever since I tipped the scales at 48 lbs in kindergarten, but in the past couple weeks I have been, um, actually really getting into it. I'm still awful and slow and easily winded, but the exponential improvement factor coupled with the ever growing firmness of my ass and thighs is very encouraging.

My recent interest in this stupid hobby stemmed from entering a weight loss race with a few e-friends on a forum I post on during work. Seeing what other people are doing to combat lardassery and get in shape is a good way to figure out something that works for you. A few folks mentioned the Couch to 5k program, which is designed to get people who have never run before in their lives into running, building up to running 5 km over 9 weeks. I downloaded the first podcast and tried it out and found it was pretty good, but I got bored of the mediocre music and found it was too easy after the first run. The phasal exercise-bulimic in me was dissatisfied in the total amount of time running --> calories burned, so I decided to push myself some more.

The very first time I was absolutely shattered, out of breath, keeling over from stitches in my sides, and my lungs and legs hurt so badly I thought I was going to die. I've only gone out running a total of like 6 times, but I am already at least ten times better than I was the first time I went and I know I'll be even better the next time I do it. The last couple times I ran with DJ Fab's History of Italo Disco 5 megamix. I originally thought I'd prefer running to death metal but turns out I'm partial to '80s cheese with subpar English lyrics about absolutely nothing.

Hopefully I won't blow my motivation load prematurely and revert to inputting lasagnas intravenously. I used to be quite hefty when I was younger, and I'd strongly prefer not to ever look like that again.