This has been a weird week for my body. The holiday exercise slump seems to be behind me, and my workouts are feeling like they’re getting back on schedule; I started doing squats again this week, which is really nice. But we had to use some gimp machine because the actual squat box -- or whatever gym bros call it -- is always taken up by dudes on their phones or somebody doing pretty much every single thing you could think of doing at a gym that isn’t a squat. And I also blew up my legs and have been hobbling around all week like an old person who really has to go to the bathroom.
Finally, I think I’m addicted to cheese.
I’m not railing it in the 7-Eleven bathroom or anything; I’m just discovering that it found itself into most of my meals this week. This hasn’t been the biggest issue, as I still seem to be losing weight, but it’s something I should keep an eye on moving forward.
Despite my horribly wounded leg muscles, Dodgeball felt like a great success this week. I felt almost athletic, thanks in no small part to some undisclosed Tylenol knock-offs. Either way it was a sweet, sweet feeling. Boxing was almost the opposite, though -- I felt clumsy and weak. It was like I was carrying my fist to the heavy bag, instead of launching it, like some violent NASA.
I weighed in at 274 this morning, but it was my girlfriend's scale, and I’m not sure how much to trust it. We had a pizza party at work this week. I am an adult, and I had a pizza party, at my place of employment. I don’t know why but that’s really shameful to even admit. Anyway, turns out you get a lot of dirty looks when you scrape the entire pizza off of the pizza and just go to town on toppings. Someone mentioned I seemed like a “Picky eater.” Really, lady? I look like a picky eater?