notmypresident: (Donna Summer 2)
Today turned out to be Victory Over Inertia Day.  Who wudda thunk?  I was in a vegetative state for all of this morning and most of the afternoon.  My two biggest accomplishments were chatting with [livejournal.com profile] bigjohnsf and making a new icon for [livejournal.com profile] iahklu (of my own accord, so it was great that it turned out he liked it).  No work on yesterday's transcript.  No work (out) on the treadmill.  Hell, I was all set to lie down for a nap, ferchrissake.  But as my head hit the pillow I thought Oh, fuck this!  That's when I finally was able to get my ass in gear and hit the treadmill.

Where, I must say, I hauled ass.  I'm proud of the fact that, after giving in to nothing for most of the day, I really, really pushed myself.  My accomplishment:  hitting my minimum goal in 30 minutes — without running a bit of the way.  I'd previously been able to hit my minimum in as short as 27 minutes, but that was with jogging spurts.  Jogging, I feel, is just not good for my knees and so I tend to stick with power walking.  That's probably not "safe" either, but I wouldn't exercise at all were it not for my power walking!  I hit the magic number by cranking the incline of the treadmill to 6% and sticking with it for 30 minutes as one of my Donna Summer exercise playlists blared through the speakers.  If my neighbors didn't know I was a fag already, they do now.  Singing along with Donna at the tops of my lungs helped keep my mind off the grueling demands of the routine.  By the time I began my cool-down at the 50-minute mark, I'd managed to burn an average of 10.4 calories per minute.  Final tally for this session:  555 calories burned and a soaking-wet sweatshirt.  Woo-hoo!!!

Sometimes I wonder how it is that fat cells seem to collect in certain areas.  I'll just chalk it up to genetics and curse the day that my parents' gene pool left me with fat camps around my upper torso and crotch.  Even when I weighed 165lbs. (back in my college days) I still had a roll of fat around my pecs that left me feeling fat despite the fact that I had starved myself near to the point of illness.  It's a good thing I hate to vomit, or else I'd likely succumb to anorexia.  But still — how fucked up am I that I felt fat even when I was too thin? 

No, wait -- I don't want to know the answer to that question. 

Let's just cut to the Favorite Bear of the Moment.

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