on the floor.

I have been waiting all mother f^&#!*& year for Breaking Bad. ALL DAMN YEAR. Mother f^&#!*& Dish. Seriously.

Our contract is up with Dish Network in a few weeks (3, maybe 4 weeks?) so our plan was to pander to the other side to see what DirecTv would offer us. It was a really good idea until they engaged in a poo flinging contest with Viacom. So basically, our choices are 1) lose AMC, or 2) lose 25 Viacom channels. Fuuuuuuuu. I hate America sometimes.

It wasn't until we pulled up to the parking lot at our gym at 9:30 last night that I realized something brilliant. BRILLIANT, I TELL YOU. The University = wired by Mediacom. As in, mother f^&#!*& cable. You know who never loses TV channels? CABLE. Sadly, my grand epiphany came half an hour too late; Breaking Bad starts at 9pm. BUTTTT - next week, and presumably here on out, you'll find me at the gym on Sundays from 9-10pm, taking complete advantage of the many, many televisions and the cable service that comes with our gym memberships.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself for outsmarting the greedy satellite bastards, their squabbles over a few pennies here and there have left us (and all their customers) on the receiving end of a situation we didn't ask for. I would gladly pay more money if I could watch my shows at home, it's that simple. Capitalism serves no one if it's motivated by greed, and Dish is about to find out the hard way what happens when you fuck over your paying customers.

What I feel like.

I have a problem. It's been a problem pretty much as long as I can remember, but now that I've lost a considerable amount of weight this problem has been attracting more and more of my attention. It's distracting, almost unbearable. Slowly eroding away at my confidence. Kinda ruining my summer wardrobe. Sometimes I conquer my vanity and I say to myself, "Fuck it, you're a god damn rock star." And other times...

I have flabby arms. There, I said it.

I have been stalking the shit out of the before/after weight loss stories on the Huff Post for the last year. Part of it was for motivation, it really gets my heart pumping to see all these rock stars who lost the weight and transformed their lives all while being regular people [#Icanrelate]. But really, I've been constantly flipping through the before and after photos looking for hope. Hope for what, you ask? Hope that I will find evidence that proves its possible to lose weight without crossing the finish line looking like a pile of loose and saggy skin. This thought specifically has been driving my anxiety for years, and I know it's stupid and I know I should know better, but I can't help myself. I can't stop the what-ifs.

What if I lose the weight and I look misshapen? What if I lose the weight and I need plastic surgery? The truth is, I didn't have confidence issues when I was at my heaviest. I knew even then that I was someone fabulous. But I seriously wonder if that will still be the case if I'm skinny-but-droopy. I'm 60+ pounds lighter than I was this time last year but I'm constantly fixated on what my arm flab is doing.

I don't usually play the victim and I'm not one to let anxiety get the best of me, and this issue won't be the exception. I decided a few weeks ago that I was going to do something about my little flabby problem. The gods must have been smiling on me because something so perfectly serendipitous happened that I could not have intentionally planned it better. Boyfriend has been lifting weights for the better part of the last two years, he and a few of his buddies go 2-3 times a week and it shows. It was an unspoken rule that lifting time equals boy time, so the chicks were relegated to cardio bunny status while the men did the heavy lifting (oh how 1980s). Boyfriend's primary lifting partner will be leaving the state at the end of the month, leaving him without a partner and giving me an opportunity.

I contemplated hiring a personal trainer for a few sessions because I don't know the first thing about lifting weights. I'm not worried about "bulking up" (ps girls, stop fretting about that, it makes you sound stupid), I'm more concerned with hurting myself (let's be honest, I would hurt myself). So when I heard boyfriend was minus a partner, I reminded him that I was looking for a trainer. Our first session was about 2 weeks ago, it wasn't anything challenging and we both let go of our zeal and stopped lifting after that first time. Though the workout itself wasn't anything exciting, I liked the idea of lifting so I kept nagging to go again. Finally, we made the time and hit the weights again yesterday, except this time boyfriend made me take it up a notch with the free weights.

He tried doing his regular exercises with me, but my piss poor girly upper body strength couldn't even bench 65 pounds (seriously, I couldn't even clear four repetitions) and it became obvious to him that we would need to modify my exercises to account for gender differences (yes, I really did just type that). I'm not trying to perpetuate gender stereotypes, but it was severely obvious to us both that I'm not capable of exercising the same way he does (FYI, boyfriend gave me some serious props... he said I can lift laundry baskets and grocery bags better than anyone he knows, it just doesn't translate to weightlifting).

Closer to reality.

Here's a rundown of my new weightlifting routine:
Modified bench press - two 15 pound free weights, 3 sets of 10.
Bicep curls - 10 pounds, 2-3 sets of 10.
Hammers - 12 pounds, 2-3 sets of 10.
Tricep rope pulldown - 35 pounds, 2-3 sets of 10.

Boyfriend and I take turns each exercise to watch the other person to ensure proper form and prevent injuries, but there are a few exercises he does on the machines that I'm not interested in so I spend that time doing various forms of crunches. I did 30 reps of hanging leg raises and 30 reps on the crunch bench on Sunday in addition to my arm exercises and OH HOLY JESUS let me tell you... this shit is serious.

I haven't been sore like this in ages. I must be in the minority because being sore excites me, it's a surefire way to know that you're challenging your body and it brings me and equal amount of pleasure as it does pain. I remember when I first started exercising on the elliptical and my lower body hurt every minute of every day, the same happened when I picked up Pilates again and when I started running. I've missed the soreness and I tingle with excitement when I think about all the good things that followed each time I've felt this way.

My body is beat. I whimper when I have to move, it hurts to be still, it hurts to sleep, but there's a huge grin on my face every time my aching muscles cause me discomfort knowing that I've found something to challenge and excite me.