Working Out Does Not, In Fact, Kill Me

I’m sorry that I haven’t been interesting in a while. I just got caught in a blah post phase. Like every subject and every idea I thought up wasn’t good or developed enough for posting material. Pick, pick, pick…that’s what I do. I pick on this and that. I criticize my weight, the lack of excitement, too much excitement. Ugh. I drive myself crazy, you could say that’s how I roll.

But other than still being sore, I think I like working out. Sure, I can only do 20 minutes in the gym at a time. (I do about 30 minutes of walking to and from the bus stop, too.) But at least I got off my plump butt and am currently in the process of doing something. I’m not whining about how I need to lose this baggage, without making any effort to do it.

I have been noticing, aside from my normal snarky observations, that I’ve been more positive. I have more energy and it’s great. I’m losing weight at a healthy clip, not too fast or too slow.

Working out just has one negative side effect. Not as much time to update the blog. I think I’ll shoot for every other day to post.