I have written here a few times about my efforts to regain my girlish figure. For instance, lately I’ve cut back on the instant coffee to prevent the growth of more moobage. But over the past 6 to 8 weeks I’ve actually resorted to drastic measures to lose some weight.
I’ve been exercising.
I know! What a novel concept, right?
I have been hitting the gym three or four times a week. I usually do between 20 and 30 minutes of running on the treadmill and then do a light weight workout of squats, bench and shoulder press, lat pull-downs, hamstring curls and leg extensions, and abdominal and lower back exercises. I then
collapse in a heap lay down on a stretching mat and force my body to become a tad more flexible than the tin man from the Wizard of Oz.
Over the past month I have begun to notice changes in my physique. My waist line has been the biggest beneficiary as it has shrunk enough that I can now cinch the belt another notch. I have also welcomed back some muscles that I thought were long gone. My shoulders and chest are becoming a bit more manly and a bit less womanly and I can now make my pecs dance when looking at myself in the mirror. Which is, by the way, a great way to pass the time when you’re bored.
I’ve been so good that I decided to reward myself by purchasing some newer exercise clothes. So I went to Target and bought a few shirts and a pair of shorts. Now I should tell you that I never try on clothes when I go shopping. I know my size so I just pull off what I want and pay for it. So when I grabbed the shirts, I didn’t even think twice about trying them on. Well, last night when I went to put on my new shirt to go exercise at the Y, I noticed that my shirt was a bit… um… tight. So tight that it left nothing to the imagination.
And, since I’m still a work in progress, I was a bit concerned that my dancing pecs wouldn’t be enough to distract people from the slight pudge in my mid-section. But my wife, who has a great sense of humor and probably chuckled silently to herself all last night, persuaded me that I looked good. So, taking her word for it, I went off and exercised with the tightest shirt known to mankind.
I survived. Turns out, dancing pecs do distract from pudgy midsections.
Now, since I bought three of these shirts, I have to keep working on that midsection because dancing pecs can only take a guy so far.
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