Skip to main content

Well, that actually worked out pretty well.

So I actually went to the gym before work today. About a week or two ago I mathed that working out before work--before my Macy's opens at 9:45am--was not only feasible but a great idea. Today I actually did it. And you know what? It was a good idea.

It gave me a solid excuse to get up at 7ish, for one. As long as I can tell myself "I don't need to be anywhere until, like 9:30..." I can keep hitting that snooze button and rolling back over for another 5minutes. Today...I don't know. Whereas the last week or so I continued as I had--lazing out instead of working out--I got up and went. Maybe it was because I was getting a ride from Parker. Maybe I was just fed up with the assholes who pump iron in the evening. Whatever was different about today, I went. And it was really nice.

There was hardly anyone there, and those that were were such a better, nicer mix of people. Between the people squeezing in a nice, if leisurely, bit of lifting for their health before work or simply those more serious-minded lifters, everyone was pleasantly courteous and respectful.

It wasn't the PM clusterfuck I've come to expect; stressed out soccer moms immovably staking out whatever machines they're using or those oozily macho studs with something to prove/ready to judge you. My tendons weren't tightening in exasperation as too many young hotties dangerously threw their weights about while still managing better physiques than I could dream of. nor (old/ugly/rude) assholes pretending not to understand the concept of "switching in" between sets.

(Maybe it was because I was going about my workout itself a bit differently. I'm aiming for tone not bulk this week, so I've found myself less frustrated with my reasonable inabilities. You know, when it's hard/impossible to finish some set at some weight that I know I shouldn't have a problem with. So I'm free of the anxious conviction that those struggles portend my never improving, never having a body like the hot guys who're assholing around in the free weight section. It's even possible, I find myself able to believe now, that in a week my body will be back more where I'm used to it being and I'll feel more sure and less anxious during my workouts themselves.)

It's safe to say I'd rather continue working out in the AM than ever try again in the evening if I can help it. Besides everything already mentioned, the morning gymtime profoundly affected the rest of my day. I felt less restless as I paced idly between rushes; there was, too, a thrumming ache in the muscles I had worked, which turned out surprisingly soothing. I also simply felt sexier as I walked about in my bow tie and suspenders, more confident than I might expect.

Iono. It was really nice.

Also crucial, I got to work on time just fine. No worries. In, out, showered and ready to sell. I'm gonna go again tomorrow morning--in fact, my gym bag is already packed and ready to go.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

A Valentine's Special.

Yeah, I'm one of those guys who's never really been with someone around Valentine's. I am sometimes baffled how other people manage these things--and why I can't. To be fair, it's probably as much my not trying enough and trying too hard as it is anything pariticularly wrong with me. Like, I know I don't get myself out there enough to meet guys and when I do it's probably compensatory and usually flawed from the start.

The other question is--why does it matter so much to me? Evidently it seems like something I want but something I'm scared of, too. It may also be something I'm just not very good at. I'm secretly timid and fearful of most confrontation and directness. For all my communication skills, I always seem to chicken out when it comes to talking to guys in a healthy, sustaining way. I'm a dreamer who wants something nice badly enough to stick to something for the concept of having it more than the reality of dealing with it; I want to…

Rocky Horror - Better than Glee.

You know, I've routinely refused to watch Glee. Like whoa. I've seen bits, it's amusing, but not my thing. Plus how can I be a properly pretentions intellectual fag if I don't look down on & snub snobbily some ragingly popular thing?? It's just not proper decorum, really.

I'm also in a Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcast (website in progress, but that's us :)). Naturally, they were all excited about that Glee episode when they first heard about it; I on the other hand gave a pained smile and said "Isn't that special. I'm still not watching it."

Part of me's pretty glad I didn't, frankly. (hah! get it? like Tim Curry.)